Contemplations on Condescension
by Kacfrog711
Summary: PostMajora's Mask. Everyone's favorite purplehaired snob gets married and lives happily every after. ...but that's just not good enough for him. LinkxKafei
1. The Return of the Greenhat Boy

Title: Contemplations on Condescension  
Author: Kacfrog711  
Summary: Post-Majora's Mask. Everyone's favorite purple-haired snob gets married and lives happily every after. ...but that's just not good enough for him. (Link/Kafei)  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the rights to anything Zelda, because this isn't even CLOSE to being canon.  
A/N: I'm writing this for fun (because I couldn't find any good Kafei/Link...And if you can't find something, that means you just have to do it yourself.) and, truthfully, I have no idea where it's going.

Chapter 1: The Return of the Green-hat Boy

I was late to my own wedding. It's an incredibly shameful thing to do, as anyone would tell you, but no one seemed to mind at the time. I suppose they were simply happy to see me there at all. When I was first cursed, you see, I was ashamed at my child's form, my weakness at being transformed, and then, the loss of my mask and all threads of dignity I had clutched together being torn from my grasp. I believed I was at my lowest then, and I simply couldn't show that side of myself to Anju. ...I suppose I should have realized then that this was a sign of something more troublesome to come. I should have gone to Anju directly. I loved her. She loved me. She would understand and console me. I had no reason to hide myself from her. ...But the very thought of her seeing me as a weak child when I had sworn not the day before that I would marry and provide for and protect her always... it made me sick inside. So I ran and hid, without a word to anyone, save my old, outcast friend whose shop I would skulk in for the following week. Naturally, they all assumed I had abandoned Anju because I was afraid of getting married. They assumed I had run from her and my vows. It was, after all, a logical assumption, given the unfortunate timing of the thing. Thus, when I was not promptly at my own wedding ceremony, I'm sure there was more than one person whispering that I had "run off again," as they knew all along I had done the first time. Likewise, when I showed up ten minutes or so later, there was a strong feeling of gratefulness, mixed with a flavor of disappointment amongst the meager crowd. I could feel it. And it was in this bastard mix of feelings that I was married.

I don't regret marrying Anju at all. She was positively radiant in her white gown (and later, out of it). It was a wonderful celebration; everyone agreed it was their fondest Carnival of Time ever, myself included. The following week was a triumph of life for us. We honeymooned in a cottage in the mountains. The air was chilly, but the sun was warm, and the lateness of spring made the flowers bloom even more fragrantly. Anju and I spent every instant of every day together, utterly in love. Our thoughts were always on one another. Our eyes, along with our bodies, were always connected. Even while eating, some part of us had to be touching, as if invisible strings bound us together eternally. However, honeymoons, like spring, are not eternal.

We returned to Clock Town more in love than we had ever been. I think upon that time with only fondness. We smiled with one another, and laughed, and kissed. I stayed at the inn every second of every day, to be closer to Anju, and shared her room at night. I thought that this would be my life from now on, and I was content to believe it. Until that one day, not even a month after Anju and I had been married, when that boy came to our inn. That Green-hat boy.

I admit, I had never particularly liked the child. He was, after all, a child, and I have never liked little children. Moreover, there was something inherently unsettling about the boy. When he looked at me, his grey-blue eyes seemed to take me in, weigh my worth on a scale, and judge me in an instant, before he would speak with that frustrating mouth and say something so completely banal that it made his look all the more condescending. He was a meddling brat, frankly, and I couldn't understand what Anju saw in the boy. But my wife genuinely liked him, and who was I, her husband, to deny her what she liked? So when the child arrived at the inn, still in that tired green hat, I grudgingly welcomed him and sat beside Anju while she gushed, to this eleven-year-old, the intimate details of our married life.

He laughed at Anju's cliche jokes, and smiled warmly when she spoke of warm things, and nodded, and looked worried at all the appropriate moments in my wife's shy and often babbling stories. And I stared at him, at his sky-colored eyes that appeared so genuinely interested in her words, interest that couldn't possibly be honest. And that impossibly interested look in his eyes mocked me, even more so when he felt my own hot glare on him and would look over slightly towards me and smile gently in reassurance.

I think that's what bothered me more than anything else about the boy: the way he looked at me so sincerely, as if to say, "I know, and I understand," when he couldn't possibly. From the first time I met him, and he said, "I know; you're Kafei, right?" he has always looked at me that way: eyes that said, "I know you. I know everything about you. And I understand." It infuriated me.

Even more frustrating, though, was that everyone else loved the boy. The whole town positively fawned over him as if he were a god. It was true, I admit, he had done a lot for the town. But so had my father, and my mother, and I, and no one ever revered us as holy. And, frankly, that he was so well-known and loved was suspicious in itself. How did he know all of us so well, when everyone affirmed they had never seen him until "just before the carnival" ? He seemed to know everyone and everyone's business. It unnerved me down to my soul, and I couldn't understand why no one else saw this boy's omnisciency as unnatural, evil, or even strange. Anju, like all others, was completely taken in by him. Then again, she always had been rather easily swayed into believing whatever one chose to convince her to be true.

He didn't stay for very long. He spent the night at our inn, then went further in his travels around Termina. He returned to town a few weeks later, no worse for wear, though with a slightly larger load on his back. Once again, he intended on spending a single night at our inn before leaving the next morning. Anju tried to convince him to stay longer, but the boy insisted that he had been "gone from Hyrule for too long already," and joked that if he were to stay more than a night, he might never want to leave. Anju laughed fondly. I attempted a smile that I'm sure came off more sardonic than was appreciated. He went to his room that night, and Anju and I went to ours.

I woke up to the sounds through the wall of the boy getting his things together. Anju, across from me on the bed, remained asleep. Quietly as I could, I slipped out of bed and dressed hastily, opening the door to see the boy hopping down the steps. He turned and looked up at me with those grey-blue eyes. We stood there: he at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, and I at the top with my wrinkled clothes and mussed hair, looking down. After a moment, he leaned to one side and looked past me, and I turned toward my room (in the direction of his look) to find the door open, my wife still asleep on our bed. I pulled the door shut and turned to shout at the boy at the bottom of the stairs for peeking at my wife, who still lay asleep, mostly-naked in our sheets. But he had gone.

I found him just outside the inn, sitting beside a large, rather flat plant alongside the wall and fixing his boots. I marched forward, fully intent on yelling at him for whatever came to my half-asleep mind, but the boy spoke before I could even form the words. "I'm sorry," he said without looking up from his task, "I didn't mean to intrude on you and Anju." I slowed in my march, then paused and frowned. My eyes narrowed as I considered his words.

"No, you're not," I replied sharply. "You're just saying what I want to hear."

He looked up, his blue eyes missing their usual "I know you" edge, and he opened his mouth but said nothing.

"That's what you do with everyone, isn't it?" I continued, the victory at finally being able to confront the boy I disliked so much clear in my voice, "You say what people want to hear, and give them what they want, and smile that innocent little smirk, and think it fixes everything, is that it?"

Those grey eyes of the know-it-all child grew dark, and they met my own narrowed ones without blinking. He replied solemnly, "What more could I do?"

And I thought about it. Some of the bitterness I felt threatened to fade at his tone, though I tried desperately to hold onto it. "You could be honest." I crossed my arms and looked away. "Some people value that more than constant condescension." I spared a glance down at him over my nose, and saw his head bent forward, contemplating the boot he had his hands on. There was a spark of pity inside me, but it was extremely easy to stomp out. He deserved to feel guilty. ...For what, I wasn't quite sure, but I knew he deserved everything he got, the pretentious brat.

"Condescension," he echoed without looking up.

"It means talking down to people because you think you know more than they do," I replied with a smirk, "Which you don't."

He looked up at me from under his yellow bangs. "I know what it means to be condescending. I get it enough from you."

My arms dropped and I glared at him, but said nothing. He looked down again, and we were quiet for a while after that. I considered turning my back on him and going inside. The lightening in the eastern sky was a warning that the sun would rise soon, and Anju usually rose with it. For some reason, though, I couldn't bring myself to move. So I merely stared down at the boy, waiting for him to do or say something more. Finally, he swung forward and stood, pulling the large pack up on his shoulders in a fluid, exaggerated motion. "You want me to be honest." He met my eyes with the intensity of a challenge and said, "The last time I was honest with you, Kafei, you told me you didn't want to hear it ever again," and stormed off to my right.

I frowned at him (Addressing me as an equal rather than an adult. I hated his continued arrogance.) and watched as he headed through the arch to the South end of town. Questioning my memory but doubting his more than mine, I barked, "Oh? And when was that?"

The boy stopped, but did not turn, and said tonelessly, "The last time, before I left you to die."

He was gone before my mind had processed the words fully. I continued standing there long after that, speechless. It was hours after dawn before Anju stepped outside the inn and saw me sitting there on the cobblestone walk in yesterday's rumpled clothes with unbrushed hair and tired red eyes. She asked if I was alright and fussed over me the way any good wife (or mother) would. She brought me inside and fed me soup that was too salty, and sent me to bed, promising we'd talk later, after I'd slept. Even when under the warm covers, I stayed awake for hours, still thinking of what that boy had said. My death. It was nonsense. It was a turn-of-phrase, a metaphor, a witticism. It was some kind of joke I obviously wasn't meant understand. ...Then, why did it still unnerve me?

It occurred to me, just before I succumbed to sleep, that he had broken the curse on me, helped me regain my mask, reunited Anju and I, known intimately everyone in town's business, and somehow made the ominous moon and that masked child disappear... but that I had never bothered to learn his name. I wondered how one could possibly make such an oversight as that. I had heard it, I knew... Anju talked about him all the time. I'd heard his name a hundred times... But I couldn't remember it now, when I tried. I would have to ask her tomorrow, I decided. And then I was asleep.

I had a dream of Sakon, the loathsome thief. I dreamed we were in his hideout, sealed in on all sides by stone, and that he held my glorious Sun's mask in one long-fingered, grey hand. He was smiling; he was always smiling. I dreamed he stabbed me in the chest with a thieved golden sword, and that he pushed my own gold mask over my face to muffle the scream.

I woke up, blind and shaking, in an empty room. I turned to see a tray of what could only be my dinner placed on the bedside desk. Anju must had brought it but not bothered to wake me. I sat and ate the food, and it was lukewarm and dry. My mind dwelled on the Green-hat boy as I ate the charcoal-tasting meat. I had never liked him. Never, from the start. Why hadn't I? What reason had I? What had he done to me? Nothing. Then, he un-cursed me and reunited me with my fiancee, and still I hated him. Why, then, did I continue to disdain him? Because he was annoying. Because he was a child. And what other reason did I need not to like him? Because he was a know-it-all show-off and a brat. Because he spoke to me, and only me, as if he were not just a child. Because he knew things. That was why, I realized. I didn't like him because he knew things I didn't. Important things. Things about everyone. Things about Anju. Things about me. Things he had no right to know. Things he couldn't possibly know. Things a boy his age shouldn't know.

He reminded me of me. That was why I hated him.

I finished my dinner and sat staring at the dirty plate, contemplating this revelation and the words he had said that pre-dawn morning. Maybe I had heard him wrong. (He had spoken softly and from a distance.) Maybe he had been lying. (I wouldn't put it past the brat; he lies constantly, in under-handed ways.) There were infinite excuses for what I had heard. Maybe it was a word game, in retaliation for the "condescension" remark. Maybe he had just been acting the stupid child he was and was playing a stupid game with me. And, if that was the case, then by dwelling on it, I was letting him win. And I'd be damned before I would let that brat win. I rose from my seat and brought the tray down to the kitchen, then washed it out so Anju wouldn't have to. As I was walking back through the hall, I heard her voice drifting through the door of her grandmother's room. With a step's hesitation, I continued past, out of the inn. I had decided: I would find out as much about the boy as possible, to put us on even ground the next time we met. And when that happened, I would get him to stop being evasive and simply answer my questions about his ill-gotten knowledge, even if I had to tie him down and torture him to do it.


	2. The Tragedy of the Notso Newlyweds

Title: Contemplations on Condescension  
Author: Kacfrog711  
Summary: Post-Majora's Mask. Everyone's favorite purple-haired snob gets married and lives happily every after. ...but that's just not good enough for him. (Link/Kafei)  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the rights to anything Zelda, because this isn't even CLOSE to being canon.

Chapter 2: The Tragedy of the Not-so Newlyweds

One could blame the failings in my marriage to my own upbringing without difficulty. In fact, even a stranger could see that my parents didn't love each other. My mother spoke, my father agreed, and the world went on this way. They never touched, never kissed more than the superficial lips-to-cheek, "hello, dear" or "goodbye, dear" kiss. They were not in love. It had never occurred to me as a child, any of it. Whether my parents were in love or not had never bothered me enough to wonder. They rarely fought, and that was enough for me. As an adult, though, I look back at my childhood and see that my parents were the same now as they always have been in my life. I'm forced to wonder now, as I never was then, if they were ever in love. Could two people who were once in love ever be reduced to what my parents became to one another? I hoped, rather selfishly, that they never loved each other at all. I would hate to find myself in my father's position: out of love with his wife, whom he had once cherished more than air.

Looking back, I can pinpoint the exact moment when I stopped giving Anju my constant, undivided attention. That's something most married men, however unhappy, can't say. Usually, the couple simply drifts apart until they are so comfortable with one another that they forget the other even exists as a separate human individual, one who desires love and attention. I began noticing it more and more throughout Clock Town after I had recognized it happening to myself. My parents were, of course, the most obvious example and the very first I came to acknowledge. There were others, of course... Most of the men I had seen in my father's office had wives whom they had forgotten. Most of the women my mother had tea with never spoke of their husbands, though they all had them. It was a common disease amongst Terminians, apparently: an illness that led to the utter indifference to one's spouse. And yet, there's so little awareness of it that one can go months without even realizing he's in the full throes of it. Thus did I forget my wife entirely.

I admit, it was not nearly so melodramatic as that sounds. Relationships are rarely as clean-cut as simply remembering or forgetting. The fading of Anju from my consciousness happened so gradually, it was imperceptible to me until after the fact, like the grains of sand falling through an hour glass: one moment the top half is full, the next empty. Thus was I one moment in love, the next out of it, despite the time that must surely have passed between the two extremes. Looking back, of course, I could see when it was that the hourglass flipped, when Anju became my wife instead of my one true love. It was that morning, when I confronted the boy in the green hat, and when I resolved myself to learn how exactly such a child could know everything.

Aroma Dotour: everyone in Clock Town knows, if you want a secret put out into general circulation, all you need to do is go to my mother and tell her it's a secret. Not only does the woman know everything about everyone in town, but she also readily shares this information with anyone who asks, putting her a step far above the green-hatted brat in my mind who kept everything to himself. I certainly didn't make it a habit of sitting down and chatting with my mother; however, one must be willing to put himself in uncomfortable situations in order to reach his goal. I was never one to back down from anything without even trying it first.

It was a matter of minutes before I had walked from my current home to my old one. I entered without knocking, ignoring the sign of "proper hours" on the door. The secretary looked up as I approached, winked, and said, "Evening, cutey." before looking back down to her magazine. This was mild behavior, for her; she flirted shamelessly with every male in town who walked into her presence, including my father. (He always quietly enjoyed it, from what I could tell.) While we hadn't grown up together, the girl was far from being new to Clock Town. She knew Anju and I had gotten married. She may even have been in the crowd of people who attended simply because they were in the area at the time. However, this didn't stop her from treating me as if I were something worth expending her feminine efforts on. She was pretty enough, I suppose, but I had never been really attracted to her - and I'd seriously question the man who had. It's true, though, that no man minds the flattery of a single female, no matter how unappealing the woman or how married the man.

"Is my mother here?"

"It's after eight, honey." She didn't look up again from her reading. "So of course she's at the bar."

I frowned and recalled rather bitterly that what the girl had said was true. Filthy habit, drinking: that's what my mother had told me when she had said I couldn't do it. She had spoken these inspired words with a glass in her hand as she ushered me out. I had avoided the bar after that. She obviously didn't want me there, and I didn't really want to be there. However, one must be willing to put himself in uncomfortable situations...

The girl glanced up at me then from her magazine. "So, what are your plans for the night?" she asked. The green eyeshadow made her eye-color seem to be pure black.

I replied evenly, "Sleeping with my wife."

"Oh," she replied, leaning her elbows (and, conveniently, her breasts) on the desk and putting her face in her hands. "That's too bad." I rolled my eyes at her and walked back out the way I'd come. As I was going out the door, I heard her call, "Well, maybe tomorrow night, then."

My steps never wavered as I headed for The Milk Bar. I hated the place with a passion, and seeing my mother was never a pleasant experience to begin with... but I was resolved. Sure, I could've just asked Anju about the Green-hat boy, but the more I considered it, the less I felt it was a good idea. So, to the town's gossip I went.

I entered the bar with a ring of bells, and someone far below the long metal steps immediately shouted, "We're not open yet!" I continued down anyway, my boots clanking rather loudly. The lights were a dull neon, leaving half the place in shadows. As expected, my mother was already seated at the bar, a glass in front of her. She didn't look over as I sat down next to her. The owner, behind the bar, leaned his palms down in front of me and met my eyes with a tired look. "You're not a member, Mr. Dotour. I can't serve you." Hearing the name, my mother looked over at me. She "Oh"ed and took a long drink from her glass.

I replied to the bartender, "I don't want anything, thank you."

He shrugged and began walking to the far end of the bar, "Alright, but you're gonna have to leave when we open."

"Gladly," I said under my breath. There was a moment of silence, in which I realized the silence wasn't exactly that: there was soft, jazzy music playing from a speaker somewhere. I looked over at my mother; she looked only into her glass: white liquid sloshed inside, a dull burgundy lip-print on the glass' rim. There was no reason to be sociable nor false, I figured, so I simply asked. "Mother, do you know that boy who stopped the moon?"

She looked fully at me then, and I realized that the florescent bar lights did nothing to flatter her. Her hair was stiff and brittle, a much-dyed pink, and the makeup was caked on her face, only accentuating her age, not denying it as she surely hoped. However, at the mention of the boy, her worn face seemed to liven a bit. "Ah, yes. Link." I took that to be his name. She continued after a pause, "What about him?"

I leaned one arm on the bar, now that I had her attention, and tried to appear casual. "What do you know about him?"

Her eyes moved to the left of me, then somewhere high up, and she recalled, "Very strange boy, but very polite. So kind. And helpful. He got your mask back for you, didn't he?" She looked over at me with the words.

I tried to bite back a sneer. "Well, I did help a bit." A bit. More like entirely. The boy hadn't helped at all. All he'd done was open that trick door with me, at Sakon's. And I hadn't asked for his help then; I'd told him to stay away. ...He had given my pedant to Anju, too, but that was hardly anything worth mentioning, in my mind. He had interfered more times than I had actually petitioned him for help, and he was a nuisance, overall. If he had gotten me my mask back, it was through no fault of my own. I gladly would've done the deed myself.

Nevertheless, my mother ignored my rather sarcastic remark and continued her fond reminiscing. "Such a good boy," she cooed. "Delivered that letter you wrote." I had written no such thing. My so-called friend at the Curiosity Shop had taken THAT liberty and informed me later, claiming I should thank him and be a better son. I fumed at first and have ignored him since. Another one to "help" even when it's not wanted. "Helped your father with a nasty argument that had been going on for days, I heard. Not to mention the moon. Anju seems to like him, too."

"Yes," I replied sullenly, "She does."

"Everyone does," My mother continued, swirling her glass. "He's a dear. Always doing what he can, never looking for payment of any kind, helping everyone he meets without hesitation. Solving problems left and right..."

"Isn't that suspicious?" I interrupted.

She froze in her monologue to meet my eyes, "How do you mean?"

"It's all rather convenient, isn't it? He helps everyone, and he always knows who needs his help, how, and when."

My mother scoffed and spoke into her glass, "You could learn a thing or two from Link."

I glared at her. It took me a moment before I could speak again and be sure it wouldn't be something offensive. "But he's always there at just the right moment. He's always prepared, and he always knows exactly what to do. Isn't that odd?"

"What are you saying," she laughed, and the sound was hollow and mocking, "He's a prince. There isn't a fault on him, save he has good luck and ends up in the right place at the right time."

"But he–"

She broke in, "You don't know anything, Kafei." I bristled, but she continued, "You're suspicious for no reason. You'd hate everyone if you could, and if you can't find something to hate, you make something up." She threw back her head and finished off the glass, then slammed it on the table. "Your father spoiled you, that's the problem. I always told him that–"

"Stop it!" I shouted, effectively halting her rant. "I've heard enough." I stood, the stool scraping, then began running back up the clanking metal stairs.

From below, my mother bellowed, "I'm just surprised you don't hate your wife!"

I paused mid-step. I had no reply, but her words had struck me deeply. Within a moment's time, I was running again, up the stairs and out of the bar. The cool evening air flowed across my face and through my thin shirt, making me shiver. It was dark by now, save the street lamp. As slowly as I could, I walked back to the inn.

Well. That had been productive.


	3. Out of Sight, Not of Mind

Title: Contemplations on Condescension  
Author: Kacfrog711  
Summary: Post-Majora's Mask. Everyone's favorite purple-haired snob gets married and lives happily every after. ...but that's just not good enough for him. (Link/Kafei)  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the rights to anything Zelda, because this isn't even CLOSE to being canon.

Chapter 3: Out of Sight, Not of Mind

If my mother had nothing ill to say about the green– about Link, though, then there most likely wasn't anyone in all of Termina who had ill to say about him. And that fact alone proved to me that there was something seriously wrong with the boy. No one's reputation was that clean. My mother had some gossip on us all, including my sweet, innocent Anju, and all she could say of this boy was, "He's a dear" ? Was it mind control? Magic? Some sort of poison only I was immune to? How could everyone be so naive regarding this... Link?

...Was it true, what my mother had said? That I hated him only because I couldn't find a decent reason to hate him? No, I refused to accept that. It wasn't my problem; it was his. There was definitely something strange about this boy. No one is that sickeningly charitable without having some sort of dirty nugget to cover up. Whatever Link was hiding, it was something huge, something horrible; I knew it. He was doing penance for something. And I would find out what it was and expose him for it.

The thought crossed my mind, as I entered the inn once more, that I might be jealous of the boy. He was, after all, dearly loved by all the people who should, rightfully, dearly love me: my parents, my wife, and everyone, really. But I quickly dismissed THAT little thought. I didn't envy the boy a bit. He was a child: something I had experienced twice now and planned never to again. It was horrible to be a child, to be constantly patronized and supervised as if incapable. The love the town had for him was a parental love, the way one loves an obedient, dark-eyed puppy dog. No, I didn't envy him at all. Besides, I didn't want their affection. They were all idiots anyway.

Anju caught me from behind on my way up the stairs, hugging me and leaning her head on my back. She said into my shirt, "Are you feeling better, love? Where have you been? ...You're cold."

I turned in her arms and dropped down a step to get on somewhat more even footing. Pulling her close to me, I whispered, "I'm warmer now," effectively dodging her first two questions. Anju blushed and leaned even closer to me; I could feel her breath on my neck. When I inhaled, I caught the faint antiseptic smell of her dark red hair. We parted after only a few moments, and she looked down at the floor before smiling up at me. I mirrored the look before turning and continuing to our room. Likewise, she spun and returned to the ground floor, presumably to go about closing up for the night.

After having slept most of the day, I wasn't nearly tired enough to do it again, now that it was getting late into the evening. Regardless, I changed my clothes and slid under the heavy covers of our bed, closing my eyes and feigning sleep while my mind wandered. I considered my next plan of action. My mother had proven useless (as I should have predicted), and she had been my best hope for discovering Link's devious secret. I could continue on with my search, asking my father, the guards, the shop-owners, and various others for information... but I knew these pursuits would also fail. And, frankly, I didn't think I could stand hearing much more flattery of the arrogant brat. As a last desperate attempt, I could always ask Anju... but I quickly dismissed this thought as well. Not only would the inquiry make my wife suspicious of me, but she was also unlikely to know anything. For all I love her, she's not the most perceptive thing. No, it wasn't worth the trouble to involve her. What else could I do? It all seemed extremely dismal, yet I was determined.

It wasn't long before Anju arrived in our room, and I continued my act. Most likely, she figured I was still ill and was simply "sleeping it off." I heard her undress and felt her presence as she slipped next to me in our bed. Mere moments later, her breathing became slow, and she was still. I remained there, my mind still running circles around possible informational sources until I couldn't stand being motionless any longer. I rose and left the room, then the inn. Still in my nightclothes, I wandered the deserted streets, past the shops and the huge clock tower. I came to the laundry pool and sat on the small bridge there, dangling my bare feet into the water. It was summer now, yet the night air was cool; the seemingly black water that lapped at my ankles was freezing: both lulling and invigorating me. This place was one I had spent most of my time in during those long days when I was trapped in my child-body. There were no lights here, other than the now distant, luminous moon, and a stray bug's glow. A frog croaked constantly, and the wind "whush"ed through the long grass it hid in. It was very peaceful, mostly because it was very secluded. I enjoyed being alone here. Very few people even knew of this place, much less bothered to visit it.

...One of them, I recalled bitterly, was the Green-hat boy. I couldn't get away from him if I tried, and oh, how I had tried. He had followed me all through the town. He had followed me here to the laundry pool. He had followed me to the Curiosity Shop. He had followed me to the Stockpot Inn. He had even followed me to Sakon's hideout. Everywhere I had gone, he had followed and offered his help. It had seemed that the more I'd tried to escape him, the more eagerly he'd tracked me down. The one place he hadn't followed me was to my wedding. I hadn't seen him there, amazingly enough. I wondered, passingly, why that was. He'd left rather quickly after The Carnival, only to arrive once more in Clock Town a number of weeks later. Then, he was gone again. He never stayed for long, did he. A week, a few days... Suspicious, indeed.

The night passed uneventfully. At some point, I leaned back on the bridge to watch the sky, and I soon, despite myself, fell asleep in that position. I woke later (with a rather sore back) to find the sky a shade of predawn pink-grey, and hurriedly made my way back to the Inn. As I climbed into the bed again, Anju opened her dark blue eyes, and I immediately reversed the action, pulling back the covers. I stood and stretched languidly, then looked back over at her and, as if surprised to see her awake, whispered, "Oh, good morning." I leaned down and kissed her gently before saying, "I'm sorry I woke you." She blinked, "Mm"ed, and shook her head, still not fully alert. We dressed as normal, and another long, dull day at The Stockpot began.

I had never really played a central role in the town's quaint society. My father was the mayor, signing papers and "making appearances". My mother was the connection between my often-eccentric father and the ever-demanding people. As for me, I was... the mayor's son. I was husband to "that nice red-headed girl who works at the inn." And that was all. I didn't need to make appearances, and my words, officially, held no more authority than anyone else's. I had never gotten a job as I was well-provided for, and it was generally assumed that I would be mayor when my father died (as had been his father before him). And Anju, they all said, would make a fine Mayor's Wife some day.

The inn is notoriously small, which is fine as there are never many outsiders visiting Clock Town. As a member of the "staff," I worked my daily shift at the front desk. This so-called job consisted mostly of sitting there and doing absolutely nothing. Occasionally, I had to use a master key to open someone's locked door, or receive the mail, or take payments from someone, or write in a reservation. None of this lasted more than ten minutes out of the four-hour shift, though, and the rest of my time was spent sitting, staring at the decorative masks on the far wall. I spent that time thinking, and my thoughts always circled back to, "Why, when he looked at me, were his eyes so deep? What did he see? What does he think he knows?"

No one seemed to notice the change in me. My wife must have, and she gave me some odd looks for it, but she didn't mention anything. I was more reserved that next day, quieter. I didn't yell at anyone or anything, or laugh. I couldn't focus on conversations for very long, and I preferred to drift in my thoughts. I ate in silence and retired to bed early. By eleven at night, I was up and out again, wandering the dark, deserted town. I ended up at the laundry pool, my one constant asylum, and I fell asleep there. It was becoming a pattern, but I was fine with this realization and made no attempt to change it.

Thus, the day passed, and another similar day followed. And another. And another. The week went by, then the month. Summer ended and gave way to another dismal autumn. It became cold, and still I spent my nights beside the frigid, motionless water , even after it froze. Time continued steadily spinning, I found no answers to my thoughts, and the Green-hat boy did not return to Clock Town. I was, of course, elated by his absence. Yet, at the same time, I was horribly frustrated by it. I hated him, and I considered it a blessing that he hadn't returned. ...I also wanted desperately for him to do just that: to show up at our front desk with a pack as large as himself, a wide smile, and eyes as grey as slate yet deep and somehow reflective as onyx. I needed him back here so I could demand the answers I knew only he held. For my part, I hadn't found out any more about the boy. In fact, I had once more forgotten his name, thus actually retrogressing a step in my quest for knowledge, and I didn't dare ask my mother again. Name or no, his innocent face and adult eyes remained forever in my mind, mocking me effortlessly.

Nothing changes in small towns. People are born, people die, but everything else stays the same. Everyone wakes at the same time each day, eats the same meals each day, and sleeps at the same time each night, only to wake again. The cycle doesn't end even with death, as it is continued by the next generation, who readily take their parents' jobs, or their neighbors'. The only thing that ever changed about Termina was the outsiders who chanced to visit it; thus, such an occasion was always something to speak of fondly. However, as I've mentioned, such visitors were generally few and far between - save two. The ranch girls, though technically outsiders, visited frequently and were known well by all. Every week, they would bring a cartload of milk into town for the bar to sell. They'd spend the day there, then the night at our inn (The nights were always long when one put the elder ranch girl and my wife in the same room.), and the next morning they would be on their way back to their ranch down Milk Road. It was expected of them, and on the rare occasion the girls didn't show, they always had a story to tell a day or two later, when they finally did. They were often slowed by weather and their unfortunate luck with bandits, but they never, ever failed a week's delivery.

Thus, it was noticed by everyone when nearly three weeks passed that next summer with no word from the ranch girls. The town was so aware of it, in fact, that even I, in my somewhat numb state, realized the err of the situation. Anju was positively frightened for them, and I it was all I heard from her for those long weeks. There was a general call for action, and a number of people proposed searching for the girls along the path between Clock Town and their ranch. My father eagerly took up this proposal, and two guards (all, my mother insisted, the town could afford to lose) were sent in the ranch's general direction. The whole town paused in its activities to see them off with waves and wishes for good luck and a safe journey.

Clock Town settled down again the day after, easily resuming everyday life with the assurance that the guards and the ranch girls would return in a matter of days. Likewise, I resumed my own schedule, though when it was my turn at the front desk, I had a few new things to ponder. I wondered what could have happened to two such as them. Those ranch girls were far from the quintessence of delicate femininity. The elder sister was about my age and could most likely lift twice the weight I could, and the younger was never seen without a quiver of arrows and a bow nearly as large as herself (a laughable foe, but formidable, I've heard insisted). Regardless of their actual situation, I was sure they could handle themselves better than most. Further, they were farmers, living out in the open and alone, and they had been all their lives. It must have been something truly terrible to keep them away for so long. ...Or maybe it was something completely ordinary. Maybe their cows had stopped giving milk, and they had nothing to sell. Maybe one had become ill and the other was tending to her, rending them unable to travel. Maybe a wheel on their cart broke, or the horse died. There was any number of possibilities that didn't merit sending armed guards after them, yet send them my father had. In truth, the guards were more retrievers of gossip than anything else, and the town eagerly awaited their return for just that reason.

As I thought more on the girls' possible troubles, my mind very easily went to one answer: that is to say, one person. I knew it was ridiculous and implausible... but I couldn't help thinking that the Green-hat boy was involved somehow. Of course, he wouldn't have injured or purposefully detained the girls; he was far too subtle for that. Somehow, though, he had prevented them from making their deliveries. I didn't know how exactly or why, but I knew it had to involve him. Maybe it was paranoia on my part to think so, but I felt the leap in reasoning was justified. After all, what strange thing had happened in Termina that hadn't, somehow, in some way, involved the touch of Green-hat? Everything could be traced back to him like the first drop of dye in a polluted pond: surely, if not directly.

Just over a week later, the guards returned. A crowd formed immediately to hear the news, good or bad. Apparently, it was good (and I'm sure a great number of people were disappointed by that fact. Everyone loves to hear bad news when it doesn't directly involve himself or his own.). The two announced that the ranch girls had had some "unexpected affairs" to attend to at the ranch before they could make their shipment, and the guards apologized on their behalf. In a few days, they assured the townsfolk, the ranch girls would arrive with a delivery double the normal size. At that point in the explanation, the people began discussing with one another, and the crowd steadily dispersed. Mystery solved, they thought. Nothing to worry about. Now, to return to normal. And so, they did.

Sure enough, the milk cart came rumbling into town not two days later. The older girl merrily guided the horse along its way, greeting and waving to everyone they passed en route to the bar. Once in front (and conveniently in clear view from the inn), she hopped down and steered the horse by the reins to the side a bit, positioning the back of the cart at the bar's door.

And there, sitting on the cart's end beside the younger sister, laughing with her over some children's joke, was the blonde-haired, grey-eyed, green-hatted boy.


	4. The Return of the Greenhat Boy Part 2

Title: Contemplations on Condescension  
Author: Kacfrog711  
Summary: Post-Majora's Mask. Everyone's favorite purple-haired snob gets married and lives happily every after. ...but that's just not good enough for him. (Link/Kafei)  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the rights to anything Zelda, because this isn't even CLOSE to being canon.

Chapter 4: The Return of the Green-hat Boy (Part 2)

The older girl grabbed a few crates of milk and managed to open the door with half a hand and her hip alone. Before entering, she called to the children to stay with the cart, and they chirped the affirmative. Wasting no time, I stormed over to Green-hat and asked what I hoped would be the first in a series of revealing questions that, after a little piecing together, would irrevocably prove my point. ...Whatever it happened to be that moment. "How old are you?" I demanded. It was a simple matter, yes, but I was sure it would lead somewhere productive: a fine place to start. ...And, yes, I was a little curious, and the question had been bothering me. I'm horrible at telling little kids' ages.

The small ranch girl looked over at the Green-hat boy, then back to me and told me with pride, "I'm eleven now. I'll be twelve in the fall."

Ignoring this response, I asked my real target, "And you?"

He looked up at me from under his blonde bangs and replied, "I don't know."

"You don't know." I parroted.

And he explained himself with a somewhat meeker tone, "Eleven, I guess. Or twelve. I"

"You're eleven, too?" The redheaded girl gaped at him. "Wow," she exclaimed, "We're the same age!"

The boy's blue-grey eyes suddenly shot up and locked with mine and he demanded, "What about you?"

"Uh, I..." I stuttered despite myself, caught off-guard by his sudden intensity. Who was supposed to be interrogating whom? The nerve.

But the girl chimed in with glee, "Yeah, how old are you? I bet you're fifteen. My sister's fifteen."

I broke the staring contest with the brat to glance at the little girl curiously. "No, she isn't."

"She is!" The child insisted. "I know because she's three years older than me, and eleven plus three is fourteen, but she had a birthday and I haven't caught up yet, so I'm still eleven even though she's fifteen."

"She's older than that." I crossed my arms. Obviously the girl didn't know her own sister's age. But was she really expected to? She was only eleven, after all. I knew, though, that the older ranch girl (Cremia was her name; she had always been a close friend of my wife and more than a bit of a nuisance.) was much closer to my age than that. She had to be at least eighteen, if not older. After all, the ranch girls had been on their own for some time, as I recalled. They couldn't be that young. Children couldn't handle that sort of responsibility. "When," I asked the little girl after a moment, "Did your parents die?"

The girl became very still, her tiny pink lips parting just a bit. She said nothing, and I began to think she wouldn't respond at all... but the next moment, her red-haired head fell forward, and she said in a quiet voice,"When I was six... they left."

"Left?" I frowned and began, "I heard th" but Green-hat was quick to interrupt.

"Romani," he pulled the little girl's arm into his own, practically pouting at her as he made eye-contact, their two little noses almost touching from the closeness. "Let's go to the shooting gallery. I can never get a perfect score, and the 'keep keeps laughing at me for it." He tugged her arm a bit, "He needs someone to teach him a lesson, and who better than my sensei?"(1)

The girl giggled at the title, "You have a lot to learn, Grasshopper! We'll show him, together!" And the two began half-skipping, half-running toward the opposite end of town, mindless of how ridiculous they looked, still hooking their arms. I glared at their backs. Not once did either look back, to wave goodbye, to excuse themselves. Manner-less, inconsiderate, disrespectful... And he'd done that on purpose, the brat. To get away from me. And it had worked. How infuriating.

I considered following them, then thought better of it. They'd ignore me while they were busy with they kiddie games anyway. Besides, they would stay at the inn tonight - the only inn - the very inn I happened to own, by marriage. The Green-hat boy couldn't run from me forever. I still had a lot to ask, and he wasn't leaving again before I'd gotten the answers I wanted. Or at least more than one. ...That hadn't worked out as I'd planned at all. I'd learned next-to-nothing. Turning slightly, my eyes met with the bar's solid wooden door. ...Well, if I couldn't find out directly, there was always the secondary approach. I strode through the entrance and down the steep stairs, once again ignoring the owner's call of "We're not open yet."

Both the ranch girl and the bartender were looking at me openly when I stepped to the floor, and I walked to them unabashedly. "You. Milk-wench." I called to the girl as I walked toward her. "What was your name again?" Yes, I knew it, but we had a bit of a strained relationship, to say the least, and how could I resist every possible insult that came to my mind when Cremia was the target? After all, I only saw her so often without Anju around; I must make use of what opportunities arise. But, really, our insults were always just harmless fun... or so we assured my wife.

Cremia replied with a flip of her red hair and the tossed words, "Well, if it isn't Anju's pet poodle." She half-turned to the bartender and asked in my direction, "Do you have any scraps? The poor thing looks all mangy and half-starved." Then to me, "Doesn't she feed you?"

"As if anyone could eat what she calls cooking," I replied, falling onto the stool next to her. "Two stray cats have died already from my left-overs - relatives of yours, I'd guess, from the look of them, the filthy, wild tabbies." Deciding that any type of subtlety would be lost on dear Cremia, I asked what I wanted rather directly. "I hear you're taking in strays yourself. Adopted the Green-hat, have you?"

"Link?" She laughed. "Couldn't collar that puppy if I wanted to. He's not a poofy little house-cat like you." She meowed at me, smiling as she leaned back on the counter-top.

I snorted, "Yes, he's more of a mutt, alright. No pedigree at all. And no taste in company." In a vain attempt to steer the conversation back where I wanted it, I asked, "So what'd he do to you?"

"Do?" She replied, mimicking my tone of voice.

"You missed a delivery."

That seemed to hit her harder than any insult I had, and she visibly flinched before replying. "Romani got spooked." I... reined in the horse analogy her term had brought to my mind. Cremia sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her skirt-covered knees. "She refused to leave the ranch again, and I couldn't leave her alone. So we stayed a while. ...Until Link showed up."

"And calmed her down?" I tried. Gave her a carrot, my mind tacked on. Patted her nose?

"Something like that."

"Kids," I lamented with a barely-restrained chuckle.

She sat up, as if with a second wind, and glanced at me. "So what do you care about us? You don't even drink milk."

Ignoring the point, I asked, "What do you know about him?"

"Who, Link?" I nodded. After a moment, she laughed a little, "What's to know? He and Romani are friends. They're about the same age, so they get along. He believes"

I couldn't help but cut her off at that, "How old are you?" Cremia looked at me as if to say, "ha-ha," so I added, "Really. She said you were fifteen."

It was almost imperceptible, but I knew I saw a blush behind those proud blue eyes. "Well... I am! So what?"

"Really."

"Stop looking at me like that!" She clenched her hands into her skirts, and I wondered distantly if the motion was to keep her from strangling or punching me for whatever 'look' she felt I was giving her. "It's not that young."

"So," I did some mental math, straining to place this age onto the strong, stubborn, independent girl whom I knew and, however unwisely, had deemed fit to trust with Anju's life. "Last year, you were fourteen."

Flatly, she replied, "Seems likely, doesn't it."

I continued, "And the year before, at the carnival, with the moon..."

"I was thirteen." She insisted, raising her chin, "But still way older than you were, Mr. Ten-Again!"

"Thir-teen!" I accentuated, letting my head fall back and speaking to the ceiling. "How did I not know this?" I snapped my neck forward again to stare at her. She was fifteen! She looked... She acted... "And I trusted you! Like an adult!"

"Oh, please!" She hopped off her perch, waving her finger at me. "Don't bring age into this, Kafei Dotour, I was more mature at ten than you'll be ten years from now." With that, she walked around me and called to the bartender her goodbye.

He replied his own farewell over my indignant, "That's just ridiculous!" I followed the flowing red hair and dirty pink skirts up the clanking metal stairs. "I can't believe you're treated like an adult at your age. No wonder you've never told anyone! What would Anju say?"

"Of course Anju knows how old I am!" She forced her way through the door with me still at her heels. "And she– Anju!"

I followed her look and saw Anju stepping away from The Stockpot's painted door. Hearing her name, my wife looked up. Even at the small distance, I could see Anju's face break into a smile as she waved largely and called back to Cremia. She was beside us in a moment, then hugging us in turn. "Cremia!" She put her hands to her mouth to cover her shocked laughter. "I haven't seen you in so long! I was worried about you, and Romani." Cremia reassured her, they hugged again and clasped hands, and I was suddenly quite sickened by their girlish display. I was not looking forward to finding myself in a closed room with those two.

"I'm getting some air." I muttered before heading out the East Gate.

Behind me, I heard the soft trill of my wife's voice, followed by the much more boisterous reply of the ranch girl, "Oh, he's fine. Just let him sulk. Now, how ARE you? Here, help me with this crate, will you?"

I didn't go much beyond the outer wall, but just sat on the large stone steps outside. It was breezy and bright out, a perfect spring day, and there was a sudden urge in me to stand up again that second and run, beyond the official bounds of Clock Town, out across the feathery green fields, down to the sea-chewed black walls until I could feel cold, wet sand under my thinly-clad soles. I'd keep running, I imagined, scaling the slippery rock if I had to, out beyond the shore and into the ocean until my feet couldn't touch the sea floor, and I had to struggle to keep my head up. I didn't know what I'd do after that point... but the urge to get that far was strong enough to stop my worrying about consequence. I just wanted to run, and end up splashing, soaked, and salty. Maybe punch and kick the waves, because I could. It'd be freezing, I was sure. And when I got back (I knew I'd get tired of it and return eventually), someone would call me insane for it. But I didn't care. I just wanted to do it, and not think about why.

But, in the end, I didn't. I just sat there instead and stared at the perfectly bright blue-and-green scenery until I felt like I would fall asleep. I don't know how long it was, but the sun barely moved in its blinding white arch. Then, I walked back into Clock Town and straight to the inn, like a pigeon or a well-trained dog. Or a house-cat.

End Notes

(1) "Sensei" is the Japanese word for a respected instructor (as far as I know, so correct me if I'm wrong.). When translated, it's usually termed "master," and it's often left untranslated, especially when dealing with karate and similar martial instruction.


	5. A Wager Between Acquaintances

Title: Contemplations on Condescension  
Author: Kacfrog711  
Summary: Post-Majora's Mask. Everyone's favorite purple-haired snob gets married and lives happily every after. ...but that's just not good enough for him. (Link/Kafei)  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the rights to anything Zelda, because this isn't even CLOSE to being canon.

Chapter 5: A Wager Between Acquaintances

There was no one at the inn when I returned. Well, no one of importance, at least. There was Anju's grandmother, I assumed, shut in that same room she never left (despite my wife's begging for the contrary). I never went in there. The old hag always saw me as a young version of my father, and asked how if I was keeping up in my studies and if I wanted any candy, or the like. It was pathetic, and I couldn't stand it. Thankfully, I never had to, as Anju had long ago taken full responsibility for the senile old woman. So, ignoring that room, the rest of the inn was empty and, thus, unusually silent. I settled down in the hard wooden chair behind the front desk and propped my feet on one of the low shelves. There was nothing better to do, and someone would be around eventually. I looked at the large, colorful clock on the far wall.

Anju was, predictably, the first to return. She arrived to see me slumped in my seat, armed crossed. Smiling, she bowed a little in greeting, and told me that she would be making dinner, then heading back to the Milk Bar to eat with Cremia. And I, of course, should join them. As she headed around the hallway to the back kitchen, I told her I'd sooner jump off the clock tower before stepping one foot back in that horrid place. I could imagine her shaking her head at me as she said that I was being silly. Then, there were sounds of wooden crates being opened and closed, pots being rattled and banged together, vegetables being cut, and things sizzling as they cooked. Soon the whole lower floor of the inn smelled tangy, smokey, and slightly bitter. I could smell onions, peppers, a variety of spices... and what was most likely burning beef. It wasn't an appetizing odor, exactly, but it didn't smell deathly, at least. I suppose that was something.

After a while, my wife came up behind me and, when I turned to look, kissed my cheek. She placed a plate in front of me, and I marveled. It actually looked... edible, for once. As she headed back to the kitchen, I called, "This looks good."

I could hear her smile as she replied softly, "Thank you. My grandmother taught me this recipe when I was younger." She came around the corner still talking, and headed towards said grandmother's room. "I don't use it much." I ate slowly, stealing glances at the old woman's door. There was no sound from the thickness of it, but I could figure well enough what was going on. Anju often lamented (whether I was listening to her at the time or not) how her grandmother barely ate what she cooked, and I figured today would be no different. It was a matter of time before the old witch died and freed up that room: a fact I didn't dare mention to Anju for fear she would start crying and then never leave her grandmother's side. Then, of course, I would be blamed. It seems no one appreciates the truth.

The door opened, and Anju headed back to the kitchen. There were more sounds of things being packaged and moved. A few minutes later, she was across the desk from me, her arms full with two large, covered platters. "I'll be back later," she told me. "Please check on Grandmother in a little while to see that she eats, all right?"

I rolled my eyes but muttered, "Yes, yes. I will."

She smiled somewhat before returning to her earlier, purposeful expression. "And if Link and Romani show up, tell them there's snacks on the counter in the kitchen, and I'll fix them a real meal when I get back."

My mind now focused on the two children's whereabouts, I replied somewhat automatically, "I'll tell them." She was out the door in a moment, but I never saw her leave. Tell them, indeed. I'd tell them they could eat only after they'd answered my questions. ...No, that wouldn't work. That little girl was a problem. She distracted Green-hat and interrupted me and my charted progression of questions. I had to separate them, then pin down the boy for questioning. It had to be tonight. If I didn't ask now, the ranchers would be gone in the morning, and the brat would most likely go with them. And even if he stayed, I had no doubt it would only be for a few hours, a day at the most, before he set off again. He never spent more than a night here. Then he would be gone for months: probably a year, if his wandering pattern continued. I didn't think I could stand another year without knowing what it was about him that made him so... omniscient. I would find out, and I would find out tonight. That was all there was to it. I brought my plate to the kitchen and washed it, then replaced it in the cupboard. I returned to my uncomfortable perch and stared resolutely at the door. He wouldn't run forever. I wouldn't let him.

I sat in that chair long enough that I eventually fell asleep, only to wake a short while later, sore all over. The inn was still empty, and it was long after business hours. I refused to wait any longer. Cremia and my wife were no doubt still at the bar (As I stepped out of the inn, I could hear music and shouting pounding through the bar's walls, despite the hour. The place was always open until dawn.), so I could easily avoid them, anyway. It was just a matter of finding the two little brats. I walked to the very end of our long block, to The Shooting Gallery. The place was dark and had been closed an hour already. No one was in sight. I continued walking down through the center of town. It was all very quiet. I looked in front of me, to the west entranceway. That end of town was more for the night owls, and the shops were most likely open there. ...But I couldn't imagine the green-hatted boy and his little ranch friend having a reason to go there (as the whole area was rather seedy and not for little children), so I remained in the south, looking around in vain. My next idea was to search the north end of town, which did have a little playground. To get there was quite a walk, though, and there aren't usually children around after dark anyway, to my knowledge. No, most likely they were all at the bar with my wife and her garrulous friend, and I refused to go there. The best idea was to just return to the inn and wait. Again.

Something in me rebelled at the very notion of it. I was sick of waiting, sick of the inn. First, there was nothing to do there. It was a waste of my time. Second, there was the inn itself: it was always too warm in the summer, freezing cold in the winter, and stuffy all year 'round. I'd much rather stand outside doing nothing, if I had to be doing nothing somewhere. So, I headed to the laundry pool, since I was close-by anyway. It was a little early for my nightly trip, but I could make an allowance this once.

I sat on the grass in the corner and rested my head on my knees. Like this, I could stare at the little reflections in the water from the lightning-bugs and the far-away moon, and everything else was absolutely still. There was a relative quiet, too, save for the little natural noises, and I soon slipped into a state of ease. I wasn't waiting for anything here, and no one was waiting for me. It was a nice feeling of freedom, and I reveled in it.

Thus, when there was a long, low creaking noise of a door opening, I was caught off-guard; I jumped and cracked my head on the stone wall behind me. When my eyes refocused, there he was, across the little pond: the Green-hat boy, Link, still standing in the back entrance of The Curiosity Shop, his hand on the door as he stared back at me. I, rather gracelessly, pulled myself up, rubbing the pain at the back of my head (It didn't seem to be bleeding, anyway.) while still trying to glare at him. "What do you want?" I called, and he didn't respond.

After a long moment, he snapped into realization and closed the door fully behind him before explaining himself. "I thought you'd be up there." He was too far away for me to see his expression as he said, "I was looking for you."

"Did you try the inn?" My voice was thick with sarcasm, and my head was still pounding dully.

He replied almost sheepishly, "I figured that was the last place you'd be."

"Well, I was." I looked around absently, then sighed. I repeated myself, "What do you want?" And it occurred to me mid-sentence, that I was rather annoyed he was here. ...Even though I had been the one looking for him not an hour ago. That was an odd turn. Yes, I had wanted to find him. ...but that was before. Now I didn't want to deal with him, or anyone. His very presence irked me.

He didn't move, and replied only after a long pause, as if weighing his words carefully. "To talk?"

"Fine." I said, but neither of us moved to speak further.

Eventually, I grew tired of the sheer stupidity and walked over to the bridge, sitting down heavily. Link took the hint and walked away from the door, sitting down next to me. The spring-chilled water was like ice around my ankles. The toes of Green-hat's boots didn't even reach the water's surface. We sat silently for a minute. My mind started tracing backwards, so I asked the first thing that came to it. "Where's the girl?"

Knowing who I meant, he replied easily, "At The Milk Bar. We went there a while ago, and when you never showed up, I left to find you."

I scoffed, "What, my wife sent you?" I peered at him from the corner of my left eye, "Didn't she tell you where I was?"

"No," he said, looking straight down into the dark water at his own wavering reflection. "She didn't send me. I just left. I didn't ask." He added with a smile, "I guess I should have."

My suspicious mind began working then, and I asked, "You didn't know where I was?"

He chuckled a little, "Apparently not."

"So there's something you don't know." I said with a little jab to my voice.

After a pause, he said, "I guess so." He added quickly with a little rueful smile at me, "I'm not omniscient, you know."

"You used to be." The line was automatic, his words triggering my previous thoughts on the matter. He looked away again and leaned further over the water. There was no reply, and I figured one wasn't coming. So, I went ahead and asked, "How is that?"

He was still silent, kicking his feet a little into a swing. Then, he looked over and smiled at me, "How are you? What've you been doing? I haven't seen you"

"You're avoiding my question," I bit back, and he responded just as fiercely.

"Yes, I am." With a laugh, he continued, "Really, how are you? Anju said you've been quiet lately."

I rolled my eyes. They were talking about me when I wasn't around. How expected. With a definite caustic edge to my voice, I said, "Yes, and they're all very disappointed by my silence. You know how they hang on my every syllable with reverence."

He chuckled, "Of course they do." I'm sure he knows what I mean. It's a well-known fact that everyone either ignores me or talks over me. Except for Anju, of course. And the green-hatted boy.

Not giving him the chance to ask again or make any insinuations, I excused myself. "The past few months have been boring, is all. There's no excitement now that there aren't imps running about cursing me, thieves stealing masks, and the like."

"I know what you mean," and his tone suggested that the words were very true: more true for him than for me, even. Perhaps I'd hit something a little close to heart for Green-hat the Helper.

Never one to avoid saying what I thought, I voiced this. "No more problems to solve?"

Link looked over at me and said rather vehemently, "No, there are always problems." After a moment, he added a little softer, "Just... different ones."

"Mm," I agreed, on the surface, at least. There was something he wasn't saying... but wasn't there always with him. He wouldn't tell me if I asked. "How long are you staying?" I spoke even before thinking the words through.

I felt him look over at me, though I refused to meet the questioning look. "I hadn't thought about it. Maybe..."

"A day?" I offered, still not meeting his eyes. "You don't ever last longer." With a sardonic grin I added, "Say some little condescending quip and then run off."

I could feel him glaring at me, but when I looked up, I saw only amusement in his grey-blue eyes. "Is that a challenge?" He asked, "Do you think I can't stay longer than a day?"

"No," I said, to be contrary, to get him to stay. "I don't think you could."

"Alright," Link demanded, standing and dusting his green self down dramatically. "I take that bet. I'll stay a week." And he nodded and offered me his hand, to shake on it. "And you'll see."

I stood and towered over him (the top of his head barely reached my chest, the little tadpole). After a dramatic pause of my own, I cocked my head and shook his hand. "It's a bet."

We dropped hands and, grinning, he asked, "So if it's a bet, what do I get if I win?"

"When I win," I said, my red eyes flashing like a fire, I'm sure, "And you leave before the week's up, for some made-up reason as I'm sure you will, you will return in under a year, and you will answer every question I ask from that point on, directly and with complete honesty, no matter how personal or trivial the question." I crossed my arms resolutely at his puzzled expression, "Or the deal is off."

Finally he said, "Alright," then quickly added, "Because I know I'll win. And when I do..." He looked around for inspiration, then slowly met my gaze again, "I don't know yet. I'll decide in a week. It could be anything, but you still have to do it."

I scoffed, "That's a rotten way to bet."

"Giving up already?" The Green-hat boy said, grinning.

"Fine." I muttered. "I agree to the stakes. But only because I'll win and your half won't matter."

"Fine." Link chirped back.


	6. Leaving, All at Once

Title: Contemplations on Condescension  
Author: Kacfrog711  
Summary: Post-Majora's Mask. Everyone's favorite purple-haired snob gets married and lives happily every after. ...but that's just not good enough for him. (Link/Kafei)  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the rights to anything Zelda, because this isn't even CLOSE to being canon.

Chapter 6: Leaving, All at Once

When we arrived back, The Stockpot was as empty as before, and the two of us standing in the front hall of the inn - alone, together, doing and saying nothing - quickly became awkward. Green-hat excused himself on the grounds that the little ranch girl and he hadn't had dinner yet, so he should bring her some. I readily rejected the offer to go to the bar with him. My earlier comment about the place held fast: I wasn't going back anytime soon. Let them talk. So the boy found two plates of cold food and left with them, and I was once again sitting at the front desk, waiting.

At least, I was sitting and waiting for a few moments before I couldn't stand it any more. I rose and went to my room, for want of something more productive to do, figuring I might as well sleep until everyone arrived back. What I had intended as a short nap, though, stretched late and later still, straight through the night. I awoke to the pounding of stairs and calling of voices: which only made me stay in bed the longer. That was the first time I'd woken up in my own bed in... months. The thought was mildly disturbing, but all thought was quickly halted by a guffawing from the floor below. Ranch girls. The smell of something edible, however, served to lure me downstairs and, regrettably, into their company.

The two children and my wife sat at the kitchen table, talking and hardly noticing my appearance. Cremia turned from the stove with a skillet hanging from one hand, and she greeted me loudly (Does the girl do anything softly?) as she served some egg mixture to those seated. I reluctantly joined them and generally tried to dissolve into the chair on which I sat. They didn't make this attempt on my part very difficult as they all fairly ignored me in favor each other's conversation. Even Green-hat was absorbed and contributing to the noise, though I caught his look once when I glanced around the table in disdain.

"I've decided to stay for the week, if you'll have me." He cheerily replied to Anju's inquiry before looking at the girl next to him. "Unless you need me, Romani?"

Cremia replied for her sister, "I think we'll be fine." And Romani smiled and nodded. When Cremia directed a question to me, however, I noticed the younger of the sisters lean over and whisper in Link's ear. He nodded gravely and whispered a short reply. They shared a knowing look, and when Romani smiled again, it seemed genuine this time.

"Well? Or have I killed you?"

I snapped my attention back to Cremia. "What?"

She laughed and rolled her dark eyes before addressing Anju. "I don't know how you put up with him." Anju ducked her head and smiled. I resisted a sneer and settled a piercing glare on Cremia. Stupid girl.

"She's overly tolerant." I said in as back-handed a reply as I could manage without insulting myself further, then pushed back my chair and stood. "Now you'll excuse me while I'm sick from this so-called food." I could hear Cremia's cackle long after I'd left the room and was up the stairs. I was not nearly so amused. I remained in my room until the front door was opened and solidly shut, venturing out only after I was positive that the infuriating ranch girl and her brat sister were gone. Good riddance.

"Kafei." Anju looked up at me from her place by the door at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes were wide and her jaw set. I managed to reduce my instinctive eye-roll to a mere looking-up. "Do you have a minute?" she asked.

I looked around and spotted the clock on the far wall before turning back to my wife. With feigned compliance, I said, "Out of my diligent agenda? Yes," and my tone slipped towards caustic with the words, "But only because it's important."

She lowered her red head and began up the stairs. I turned toward our room, and in the motion, I caught the barest flash of green from the corner of my eye. I paused in the doorway and allowed Anju to pass by... But before following her, I glanced down the stairs. And there he was, at the bottom. He looked up at me with those deep grey eyes. Then, he turned and walked away, all without a word. The bell chimed as the inn's door opened and closed in his wake.

My instinct was to run down the stairs, to follow him and demand an explanation as to where he thought he was going, and what of our bet? But my wife was waiting for me in our room, and I couldn't leave. I wasn't so detached as Green-hat. With a sigh, I turned and entered the room, clicking the door shut behind me and leaning against it. Anju sat on the edge of our bed, her hands folded in her lap, looking directly at me. When she saw that she had my attention, she asked, "What happened last night?"

"What do you mean?" I replied immediately, betraying nothing.

"I asked you to check on my grandmother." She said with some desperation to her voice.

Oh. That.

I didn't reply, so she asked again, "Why didn't you?"

My arms crossed, I half-shrugged. "I forgot." Sensing that this wasn't going to pass for an answer, I continued, "Well, it's not as if she needs checking on anyway. She didn't eat it, did she?"

"Because you didn't ask her to!" Anju lowered her eyes, "You know how my grandmother is. She won't eat anything unless you stay and make sure she takes a few bites first."

"She wouldn't listen anyway." I reasoned. "The woman treats me like a five year-old. If I'd told her to eat, she would've replied with something completely non sequitur like, 'Would you like to hear a story? Get little Tortus, and I'll tell you both.' And then where would I be?"

My wife looked at me with glossy blue eyes, "But you could have _tried_."

I stared off at the side wall and said nothing. No, I wouldn't apologize. I didn't see the reason. What I'd said was true and sound, and I wouldn't allow her to convince me otherwise. Besides, I'd already told her that I'd simply forgotten, which was the truth. What more could she want? It's not as if I'd purposefully refused to feed the witch because I wanted her to starve to death (though that certainly would be a pleasant incentive). So, no, I hadn't bothered to force food down the old woman's throat. But did it really matter?

"She's all I have left."

I turned to look at Anju, but her eyes were downcast. It had been said quietly, barely audibly, but it had been said.

I replied with the obvious, "You have me."

There was a long pause... and it lasted. My wife didn't answer.

I felt a tightening in my chest, and a tingling in my fingers that I couldn't explain. I was nervous suddenly, and I couldn't explain the feeling away. But I didn't like it. I raised my chin and asked, "Is that all?"

She nodded, unblinking. There was still no reply. I waited only a moment longer before turning and taking my leave. The door to our room was left open behind me, but not the door to the inn, which I slammed.

I walked through the sunny, daytime Clock Town in a numb haze, and I was at The Laundry Pool before my mind has processed that this was where I had been heading since I'd stepped out of that door. I'd come here so often now, it would've taken visible effort on my part NOT to once I'd left Stockpot. And I hadn't bothered to try. I fell down on the wooden bridge with a sigh and sat there without thinking for as long as I could.

When my mind finally caught up, I thought of Link. He'd abandoned our bet, already. He'd left the inn, and it hadn't even been a day. My initial response was to be disappointed, affronted, insulted, upset... Then I recalled that the loss of the bet on his part meant the gain on mine. He'd have to tell me everything now, when he returned. ...That is, if he returned at all. But, really, would it be so terrible if he didn't? I'd never liked him. Getting rid of him, possibly forever, should be a cause for celebration. But it somehow wasn't. I felt rather the opposite. It was irrational, but I felt... betrayed.

I ran my hands through my hair to satiate the alternate urge of pulling it. It was all very frustrating. Looking around the area, there was nothing. What was I supposed to do now? I couldn't very well go back to the inn. Not for a few hours, anyway. Green-hat was gone again, so what was left? Where else could I go? My eyes met the small door at the far end of the water. Well. There was always that. With a sigh, I stood and made my way to the back entrance of The Curiosity Shop.

There was a time, once, when I'd practically lived in these back rooms. The only light was by candle, and the air was smokey and stale, very nearly to the point of noxiousness. Further, it was cluttered, and not neatly so. There were crates and boxes and piles of junk all in disarray. They had never been organized, and they most likely never would be. I had amused myself in those long days stuck here as a child by digging through the jumble of goods in search of that buried treasure, that priceless antique, which must surely be buried somewhere beneath all the worthless and broken things. Of course, I never found anything that looked even remotely valuable. But, the hope remained that if I just dug deep enough, I would find something that would make the patient looking for it finally and undeniably worth the while.

Needless to say, after that incident those years back, I never returned to these back rooms if I could avoid it. There was no reason to hide and, frankly, just the musty smell of the place was enough to make me ill, never mind the accompanying memories. And there was, of course, the little matter of the curiosity shop's owner. I don't think I'd spoken to Ric since after our confrontation over that false letter he wrote to my mother under my name. I was in no hurry to mend our friendship, either (if you could've called it that). Here I was, though. Not because I wanted to see him, no. But because, really, there was nothing better to do. (1)

I found him sprawled out in a pile of moth-eaten blankets piled in one corner, sleeping soundly. The sight was familiar, even though I hadn't seen it in years. I'd rarely slept at all back then, but Ric would sleep most of the day. He prided himself, he had once said, on being able to stay up from dusk until dawn. I'd easily countered that this ability was only because he slept from dawn until dusk, and not some great feat on his behalf (Anyone can stay up eleven hours straight after sleeping for thirteen.). He'd looked quite insulted by my saying so.

I returned to the previous room of the shop's back and sat heavily on a dark pillow, causing a bit of dust to lift and settle again. Next to me there was a pile of books, and I grabbed the top one. I opened it, and it was row after row of numbers and charts. I snapped it closed, and the dust and smoke floated around me, stirred by the motion. The back of my throat was becoming sore from it already. I grabbed another book and flipped through it, pausing on a page to skim its text. It was some philosophical writing about nothing, and I closed it and tossed it on the ground; it landed with a dull thud onto the previous one. The third was a similar read. I opened another, much thinner one and was interested to discover that it was about Termina's distant history. This text held my attention for some time, and I was mildly alarmed when Ric's rough voice interrupted my own internal monologue.

"That's a valuable one, huh?"

I scoffed, closing it but holding one finger on the page, "To a scholar, maybe, but how many scholars do you get downstairs?"

He leaned over me, peering down dramatically over the book as if to read its title upside-down. "Which one's it again?"

"A history of Termina." I dutifully replied, handing it up to him. I stood and stretched my shoulders.

Ric took the book, but paid more attention to me than it. "You lookin' for something?"

"No," I glanced to the side, noticing the peep-hole into the shop's public area below. That's how I'd discovered Sakon so long ago, and where I'd first seen Link. "Not particularly."

"Can't help you then." Ric dropped the book on another pile even as he walked past me. I could hear his slow, heavy footsteps as they rounded the corner and descended the few stairs. "Lock up when you're done." He called, and the little door slammed and clicked shut.

I picked up the book from where he'd dropped it, staring at the empty hallway before me. After a moment's thought, I fell back onto the heavy cushion, opening the book as I did. My fingers immediately began hunting for the page I had lost.

End Notes

(1) As far as I know, the owner of the Curiosity Shop doesn't have a name. (Correct me if you know it.) But Kafei has to call his old friend something. So, for the sake of this fic, his name is Ric Yutiso. And, yes, that's a simple anagram. It works out nicely, though, doesn't it?


	7. A Night Spent in Curiosity

Title: Contemplations on Condescension  
Author: Kacfrog711  
Summary: Post-Majora's Mask. Everyone's favorite purple-haired snob gets married and lives happily every after. ...but that's just not good enough for him. (Link/Kafei)  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the rights to anything Zelda, because this isn't even CLOSE to being canon.

Chapter 7: A Night Spent in Curiosity

I stayed in the back of the shop well into the night, as I had no real desire to leave (with the exception of hunger, but that was easily ignored in such a stale-smelling room). I finished the book a fair amount of time after Ric had gone; it was an exceedingly short work that only recorded a brief period of Termina's past, but the writing was archaic and intensely descriptive, thus it took me a number of hours to get through it. The shop below was soon opened for business, and the clock on the wall - though half-concealed by junk - confirmed the time as 10-something. Still unwilling to return to the inn, I dug through the stacked piles for a new book, finally settling on some epic poem that looked promising. I'd barely gotten past the invocation, however, when I head Ric's louder-than-usual voice through the wall. "Hey, it's the kid!" I heard shuffling. "You ever find Kafei?"

I was at the wall in a flash, my eye easily finding the hole there. The angle was odd, and I couldn't see much past Ric's balding head for a moment. He then leaned forward on the counter, however, which presented me with a clear view of the (notably short) customer. Green-hat was talking steadily, but I could hear only mumbles from the distance.

"Yeah, he likes that place," the shop owner said. Talking about me again. I was just surprised he hadn't– Then he looked in my direction, as if seeing through the wall, and practically shouted, "Don't you, Kafei?"

I immediately jumped backwards so my eye wouldn't be visible through the hole, only to lose my footing, trip over some metal instrument and fall in a rather loud commotion. Well, so much for subtlety. I heard Ric's laugh through the wall: short and sharp but deep. The bastard, ratting me out and enjoying it, too. ...Not that I had been hiding from Link in the first place, but it was the principle of the thing. Now that the boy was aware of my presence, I was sure nothing good would be said. But that didn't stop me from listening, of course. I sat on the crate below the hole, resting my head on the wall. I could hear Ric clearly when he spoke, but only a word or two of Green-hat's reached my ears. Thus, it was hard to say what they were speaking about most of the time, but what I made out didn't sound particularly engaging anyway: how business was, how long Green-hat had been in town, his non-existent plans for the night, their mutual health. When they started talking about what the weather was like, I exploded, "Would you two say something worth saying or just shut up!"

Green-hat replied with something that sounded only like muttering to my ears, and Ric responded to him with a whisper of his own. There was a pause, and then the brat said loudly enough for me to hear, "What should we say to entertain you?"

A few thoughts came to mind, but Ric interrupted my serious musings on the subject with, "Should we put on a play? Do you want comedy or tragedy?"

"How about mime?" I spat. There was no sound for a moment, and then Link started chuckling. I chanced a look through the hole (hoping to catch Ric making an idiot of himself) and fell back again at the startling sight of a huge brown eye.

Ric laughed and spoke directly through the hole so I could see the movement of his lips and nothing else. "Why don't you come down here already?" The lips disappeared and were replaced by the curious eye once more.

I sneered, "No, I don't think I will."

"Suit yourself." He said, and I heard him jump back down to the floor. There was more muttering of a conversation out of earshot, and then the shop's door creaked open and closed. I sighed. Ric's sense of humor usually clashed with mine, but at least he knew when to stop. ...Well, sometimes. Actually, the man was rarely serious, if he could avoid it. I suppose a sense of humor is useful when constantly dealing with criminals as he did. I picked up the fallen book and replaced it on its stack, no longer in the mood to read.

"Hey, kid." Ric called, and I naturally remained unmoved. If he were talking to me (and he was), I wouldn't respond to _that _address. "Hope you're decent," he said, then added, "On second thought, I hope you aren't."

"What? Why?" I shouted back, hesitant to hear the answer.

When he responded only with a dark chuckle, I peered through the peephole: Ric was smiling deviously at me from behind his shades. I cursed and turned towards the stairs. He hadn't... A moment later, my suspicions were confirmed as Green-hat rounded the bend. ...Of course he had. He'd invited the little nuisance up because I wouldn't go down. Wonderful.

The boy stopped on sight of me, then smiled widely. "Sorry about that," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I really didn't know you were up here." After a thought, he added, "I mean, I did when he... But, at first, I didn't."

I rubbed my eyes. "It's fine."

There was a moment of silence; when I looked up, he said, "Should I leave?"

"No, it's" I began, until the thought stuck me. "You lost."

Green-hat looked confused. "I what?"

"You lost the bet." I began smirking with the words. "You left the inn."

"What?" His grey-blue eyes had gone wide, and he said vehemently, "That wasn't what we said!"

Now _I_ was confused. "What do you mean? The bet was that you wouldn't stay for a week."

Link splayed his hands and pushed out his chest. "Here I am."

I narrowed my eyes and accused, "But you left the inn."

"That wasn't the bet!" He said.

"Yes, it was," I demanded.

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes it was!"

"No, it wasn't."

"It was!"

Something started pounding against the side wall, and we both stopped our arguing to stare in the general direction of it. The sound stopped abruptly, and Ric shouted, "Hey, keep it down up there!" He added loudly, "Damn noisy kids."

I considered throwing something at the wall but didn't see the good of it, as it wouldn't hit the owner by far and would cause minimal damage to the wall itself. I looked back over at Green-hat, and he was looking at me. "Well?" I said.

"The deal was," he said calmly, "That I wouldn't leave Clock Town, and I haven't."

"It–" I caught myself in the argument, unwilling to repeat the previous degeneration in conversation. "I suppose we didn't discuss the finer details of our deal."

"I suppose we didn't," he mimicked back.

I crossed my arms with a sigh. Actually, I hadn't thought about that aspect of it before now. When we'd made the deal, I'd just expected that Link would be where I wanted him to be, where I would have access to him at all times, thus allowing me my interrogation. I suppose that was a poor assumption on my part. If I could hardly keep the boy in town for a week, how did I expect to keep him within my eyesight for the duration? He was a child without parents: a wild animal, like those prankster children running about in their gang, causing havoc. I wanted him on a leash. ...But I would have to settle for a cage. "I admit, it would be cruel to confine anyone to the Stockpot for an entire week." Though the word was hard to get out, I managed, "I acquiesce."

"Good." He nodded his green-hatted head.

We stood in silence: me in the room, him in the entranceway. I thought on it but could come up with nothing else to say regarding our bet. Curiosity finally provided me with a question. "Did you decide yet what you'd want if you win?"

Link looked up at me, smiling. The sight reminded my vaguely of Ric, and his smiles were ones to be feared, not encouraged. "I may have," he said enigmatically. "But since you already agreed to 'anything,' I figure I'll keep my options open for now."

"How expedient of you," I intoned.

"I think so," he said proudly.

Again, there was silence between us. I took the moment to stare at him openly, my eyes following his ridiculously large boots up his ridiculously skinny legs, up further across that ridiculously grass-green tunic, and up to his ridiculously thin neck. He was laughable to look at; I wondered if he knew it. By the time my eyes were on his face, his own were downcast. The lack of those adult eyes, now hidden by dark lashes and white-blonde hair, completed his entirely infantile look. I couldn't believe the perfect juxtaposition of how reasonably he spoke and how juvenile he appeared. It was absurd.

"How do you know so much?" I asked outright.

He glanced up at me, his eyes serious for a moment. Then he smiled. "I listen."

My initial response to this was, of course, an annoyed frown. "Are you implying that I don't?"

"Was I implying that?" he laughed, and I wanted to punch those teeth right out of his head.

"You're very frustrating," I said as succinctly as ever.

"So are you." He met my eyes with a more subdued smile and returned, "You just don't seem to mind it."

I scoffed and moved to push past him, but he turned and began trotting down the steps before me. Once we were out in the fresh night air, hunger hit me with its full force. "Have you eaten?" I asked, not really caring about the answer, but rather musing on food in general. Where to eat...

"Hours ago," Green-hat replied, walking. "At the inn. Anju asked about you, and I didn't know what to tell her."

I ignored this bit of extraneous information and contemplated my options. There are a limited number of places one can find food in such a town. The most obvious of answers is, of course, at one's residence. In my case, that meant the inn, unfortunately enough, and I had no intention of going there tonight. The next option that came to mind was the Milk Bar, which served a limited selection of food with their drinks. I immediately rejected this idea as well. The food wasn't very good to begin with, from what little I'd sampled, and I was still prejudiced against the place as a general principle. Another, even less desirable alternative was to go to my home: the house at the back of the mayor's office. There was a fully-stocked kitchen there, and I could fix myself something easily enough. However, I was fairly certain that returning home meant encountering my mother (something I strove always to avoid in life), which put me off the idea entirely. There was, of course, the Curiosity Shop's back rooms. Ric didn't have an oven of any kind, as he'd more than likely burn the shop down with it, but he always kept the place stocked with a variety of dried and quasi-edible food. Having spent the day and just left there, though, I was in no hurry to return.

By this point, we'd come to a full stop in the middle of South Clock Town, for lack of any purposeful direction. Link was looking at me with interest, but I merely frowned over his head and continued to ignore him. After a moment of loitering, he asked, "Aren't we going to the Stockpot?" I didn't reward that brilliant question with a reply. I felt his continued stare, and it bothered me beyond the point where I could remain silent.

"Go, then, if you're in such a hurry to return."

Link looked near incredulous; had I been less vexed, I would've been amused by it. "So you're just going to stand here?"

I wanted to, when he said it. I decided in that second to remain standing there all night, just because he was so against it. ...The immediately following second, however, this idea suddenly didn't sound palatable in the least. So I decided to do opposite, and I walked off in the direction of West Clock Town: as far away from the inn as I could get myself.

It took a moment for the action to register, but then Green-hat was right on my heels again, following me to the west like a stray dog. I replied snappishly even as I walked, "I thought you were going to the inn."

"I thought _you _were," he said, struggling to keep up with my quick pace.

"Why are you following me?" I demanded of the air before me, not condescending to look at the brat.

He stopped walking, and I continued ever-forward. Soon he was a good distance behind. I rounded the bend in the street, and he was gone from me entirely.

...It was a curious thing, I realized once he was no longer within sight. I sat down on a store's front step, and I considered what I'd just done. I'd gotten rid of the boy. I'd forced him out of my presence. And I was glad to have done it. I really couldn't stand him... His body _being_ there, his constant staring. But then, as soon as he was gone, I could think of nothing else. I'd wanted to interrogate him; what of that? How had I forgotten? No, I hadn't forgotten. I had asked him, when the opportunity had arisen. And yet, when I hadn't gotten my answer, I'd allowed him to completely change the subject, without even being aware that he was doing it. The cunning of him! How underhanded, how sly... And then when there was nothing left to be said - a time in which I should've forced my questions into the conversation - I didn't ask him. I didn't want to speak to him. In fact, I wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible from him, the nervous feeling crawling under my skin. Something about his presence consistently bothered me to the point that I felt the need to move, to end it, to walk away. And yet, once he was gone, my sole directive became only to get him back again. It simply didn't follow. It was completely illogical. It was insane and unhealthy, I reasoned, like being addicted to the very thing that kills you. And something had to be done about it.

...But I wanted dinner first. The south end of town was more the place to buy food, but any vendors there would be long closed by this time at night. The shops in West Clock Town mostly sold weaponry, clothing, medicines, and a variety of... ill-reputed services. Any food bought here needed to be tested first, preferably by someone you weren't very fond of. The image of Green-hat choking immediately came to mind, and I allowed myself a smirk. That would shut the brat up. Then, the naturally-following image was of him dead... and that was somehow less pleasing. But it was all irrelevant anyway, and I strove to put it out of mind.

I finally ended up back in the Curiosity Shop's upper levels, and the food I dug from the pantries there was less than satisfactory. It all tasted like smoke and dust, anyway. But it satiated my hunger, and that was enough. And even more convenient was the close proximity of the place to the laundry pool. On my way out, I took with me a candle and a few books, and I spent a good number of hours reading by the waterside. I fell asleep on the grass with my head on my arm and a book still in my hand. When I woke, it was long past sunrise, and the candle was a mere hardened puddle of wax beside me, long since gone cold. I noticed that the books were neatly stacked and was surprised to find a scrap of paper holding the page of one. On the note, there was writing in a messy, ink-spotted hand that said simply, "I'm not a library. Keep them in the store or pay me." It wasn't signed, but the author of it was obvious.

In response, I stood and kicked the books into the pool.


	8. Confrontations and an Undesirable Soluti...

Title: Contemplations on Condescension  
Author: Kacfrog711  
Summary: Post-Majora's Mask. Everyone's favorite purple-haired snob gets married and lives happily every after. ...but that's just not good enough for him. (Link/Kafei)  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the rights to anything Zelda, because this isn't even CLOSE to being canon.

Chapter 8: Confrontations and an Undesirable Solution

I decided it was time to return to the inn, against every innate urge in me to do otherwise. I arrived at the door without incident, and stood there steeling myself for whatever might await me inside. Just as I was pushing open the door, however, Green-hat was pulling it out, and we fairly collided in the process. He muttered an apology and I merely glared, then he was off once more, the sword and shield on his back clanking loudly with every step. I watched him suspiciously from the doorway of the inn as he headed ever-closer to the town's east exit... and didn't slow. Dropping my hold on the open door (and abandoning any notions I'd had of returning to the inn), I strode after him. He waved to the guard as he approached, and I spoke over their greetings, "What do you think you're doing?"

He turned to me with sickeningly innocent blue eyes and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean you're leaving the town." I came to a halt in front of him, leaning over him as menacingly as I could. "Forfeiting the bet."

Shifting the weight on his shoulders, he said, "I'm just going into the field, by the observatory. I'm not leaving Clock Town..."

I knew it. He was doing it on purpose. He lived only to frustrate me, to push the boundaries of any type of control I had over him. "No," I said forcefully, "Anything outside these walls, "I gestured upward. "Is outside of Clock Town."

His eyes narrowed as he considered this, and he began, "But I don't think–"

"Well, you're wrong." I insisted.

Green-hat raised his chin. "Fine," he said, and he marched past me, towards the arch into South Clock Town.

"Where are you going now?" I called after him, demanding.

He stopped but did not turn. "I'm not going to leave," he said quietly, viciously.

"Do I have to follow you?" I said, my tone lilting. I could almost feel him tense, see it in his posture, despite the large shield whose screaming face stared at me from his back. I managed to say nothing about leashes and collars, though this restraint on my part didn't seem to make a difference in Green-hat's grim demeanor. Wordlessly, he turned, and he stormed towards me, reaching behind him for his sword with one hand, the other coming up to his chest. I felt my heart pound in my ears, but I remained rooted to the spot as he stalked closer with deathly-serious grey eyes.

Something snapped open, and the sword fell from his back and into his left hand, still fully sheathed. Now within arm's reach, he held the sword up to me and said definitively, "Take it." Hesitantly, I did, unsure of what exactly he expected me to do with it. (He certainly couldn't be expecting me to use it. I had never been trained in swordsmanship, never had the need. I was the mayor's son, not some errant wanderer. I had no need to fight; I'd never even left Clock Town, and I was never expected to. What could he possibly want me to do with such a weapon?) He met my dumfounded gaze, unblinking. "I won't leave the town without it," he said, turning again towards the south, "Don't worry about that." He walked off again once more, and I didn't dare ask to where, despite my interest. It was mildly startling; I had never seen the green-hatted boy look so fierce.

I examined the scabbard with a raised eyebrow, then pulled the long sword cleanly out of it with the whisper of metal. The blade was broken at even intervals by a checkered diamond pattern: an alternation of gold and steel that I had never seen before. I wondered where Green-hat had gotten it... a sword big as himself, though lightweight, and so obviously valuable. What a sword like that must've cost him... and how much I would get if I sold it. I smiled at the idea. Not that I needed the money, but wouldn't Green-Hat the Brat be surprised? To find that he had trusted me with his sword, and I had sold it a moment later... To visit the curiosity shop only to find his own weapon for sale beside the other stolen possessions... The idea was delicious. Of course I would never do such a thing, really. But that didn't make the concept any less amusing. I sheathed the sword and, once again, set my sights on the inn.

Anju was behind the front desk when I arrived inside. She looked up at my entrance and smiled weakly. "There you are," she said fondly, "I was worried about you."

"You needn't be." The sword heavy in my hand, I walked towards her.

"I know," she said, her eyes following my approach. "But I–" The solid thump of metal on wood made her start. She looked from the scabbard I'd put on the desk up to me and back again. After a moment, she asked, "Isn't that Link's sword?"

"Yes," I said, offering no explanation as I continued on, rounding the corner.

Her voice followed me up the stairs, "Why do you have it?"

It took me a moment to decide on what lie was the most truthful without being conspicuous. "He asked me to hold onto it," I said, and mentally lauded myself for the words. That was good; it would even classify as truth. I find it's always best to tell lies as close to truths as possible; that way, if you're ever discovered for them, you can claim innocence much more convincingly. I hadn't been caught in a lie since childhood, but it was reassuring to be prepared, nonetheless. ...My illustrious record wasn't because I was particularly trustworthy, mind you, but because I was an astute liar. I assume my wife accepted this one well enough from her lack of response.

I spent the following hour or so lounging in my room, planning the rest of my day and, consequentially, thinking about Green-hat's whereabouts. Since I hadn't pulled a shift downstairs in a number of days, I figured I might as well do so later this afternoon. That should put m in my wife's good graces, if nothing else. Link would most likely return for lunch, and Anju would probably interrogate him for me, asking how his day had been and what he'd done, and other things she couldn't possibly care about but asked out of politeness. He'd leave again after eating, and I'd accompany him to his next destination, allowing me to ask why he'd gotten so riled over missing a trip to an empty field. Really, what could he possibly do out there? The explanation was undoubtably that he had nothing planned and that he really had just been testing his limits with me, only to becoming contrary when I'd called him for the childishness it was. For all his ill-gotten knowledge, he really was just a stubborn kid.

My plan was delayed when Green-hat did not arrive back at the inn for lunch as was expected of him. I was sure, however, that he would arrive before dinner. My plan was not yet wholly ruined. Anju talked to me as she cooked, excusing the boy's absence. "He must be busy," she said, "I think he mentioned that sword shop in West Clock Town yesterday. Do you know the one? With that strange man with the long hair..."

I smiled at the idea. "He won't be going there."

"Why" It took a moment, but my wife caught herself, "Oh, that's right. You have his sword." She ladled some of the stew into a bowl and placed in on the tray for her grandmother. "Why do you have that, anyway?"

"I don't know," I answered with a partial truth, then distracted her with a bit of irrelevant information. "I'm sure he'll be back for it."

"Yes," Anju agreed, carefully sliding the tray off the counter and into her hands. She looked at me in passing on her way and said, "I don't think I've ever seen him without it."

It was true, but hardly worth noting, I thought. I watched Anju's green-blue skirts swing as she walked. He was never without the hat or the shield, either, but she didn't seem to deem either of _them_ worth mentioning. I served myself a bowl and leaned back against the counter, blowing on its contents to cool the surface. When I finally did take a sip, I burned my tongue despite the effort. At least the taste wouldn't bother me, then. I was done with my serving before my wife had returned from her grandmother's room, so I washed the bowl and returned to my own room, figuring I could relax for another hour or so, then take a shift at the front. Moments after I had lain down, though, the door to the inn opened, and there was a small commotion below.

I meandered down the stairs, fully expecting the green-hatted boy. He was late for lunch, but that was presumably why he had come nevertheless. And if by some minute chance it weren't him down there, then whatever it was would still be something worth leaving my room for. No one came regularly to the inn in the spring (save those insufferable ranch girls), so if it were anyone, it would be a passer-by or traveler of some kind, and these rare occurrences were always generally interesting in one way or another. And, of course, Link was no exception.

As anticipated, Green-hat was there in the inn's entranceway, his loaned sword already hitched and being secured on his back. More curious, though, was the large, hunched, rock of a creature beside him. I looked from Link to the goron suspiciously. Where had he found that thing.

My wife was behind the counter, looking worried but pleasant as usual. "Are you sure you won't stay?" She asked in a tone belying that she already knew the answer. I glared hard into the back of that green head, and I know he felt the weight of my look; he glanced at me sideways before answering Anju.

"I'm sure. I'll be back this way when I can." He bowed, then met her worried look with ease and smiled brightly. My wife couldn't help but smile in return. I glowered. Anju opened the large book in front of her, then began rummaging through the top draw for a pen and ink. I stared ever-harder at that self-assured profile. Green-hat continued to ignore me. No, I wouldn't let him.

"Anju," I said, walking around the counter to come beside her. She looked up, startled, and I took the quill from her hand. "Let me."

Anju gaped for a moment before saying, "I can do it." She looked down immediately and began flipping through pages of the book, "I mean, you don't have to..."

I started speaking before she had fully trailed off, "We hardly have anyone check out early." I looked poignantly at Link who had the gall to watch me with a definite air of vindication. "I need the practice," I said the words violently, despite their meaning.

Not one to be overly-curious, my wife conceded. "Alright," she said and hovered beside me with momentary discomfort before fleeing to the kitchen with a mumbled excuse.

"You're violating our bet," I said in a low, menacing tone, scratching the pen's tip deep into the page across Link's name, striking it out. I began scrawling the necessary details into the book without ever breaking eye-contact, without blinking. I was in a rage, and only he and I existed, and I abhorred him in that moment, and even more the next.

"I forfeit," he said.

"What?" My mind refused to comprehend the word.

"I forfeit," he repeated.

"You can't," I said, nearly snarling. It was ridiculous to say so: of course he could; why couldn't he? But he _couldn't_. Yet he just had.

With some growing irritation he said, "It's over. You win." The words were held between us in our lasting eye-contact. I couldn't speak. He wasn't doing this. He couldn't do this. This wasn't part of the bet. I wanted to scream at him, "That's cheating, you arrogant little bastard!" But it wasn't true. He had every right to quit, and I should be glad for the premature victory. But, oh, glad I was decidedly not. The pressure of the quill on the page was enough to puncture it and snap the tip off the nib, bespeckling my hand and the page.

Green-hat took the opportunity to break our staring. And he strode away, throwing the inn's door open with a clang. I remained unmoved, save to slam the book shut, the quill still inside, holding the messy page.

The goron (who heretofore had gone completely unnoticed but who now held my scalding attention) looked at the door dumbly before looking at me just as blankly, his slack jaw swinging with the turn of his head. He waved awkwardly, saying "Uh, goodbye-goro," before shuffling after Link. He left the door wide open in his wake. Mere moments after he had gone, the brute returned, only to stick his head in the empty doorway, look at me with his vacant expression, then pull the door closed.

I stood silent for a full minute before picking up the pot of ink and throwing it forcefully at the door. It hit and fell, then clattered harmlessly around; it was unbroken, being made of solid stone, and had such a small opening that it didn't even splash on impact with the door, but fell sideways and merely _leaked_. I leaned over the desk and rummaged through the top drawer, looking for something more satisfying to break. I finally found a cloudy-colored paperweight that had been delicately carved into turtle. I gripped it, and it was cold and solid in my hand. With all the force I could manage, I hurled it at the door, and it shattered completely with a large smack and a tinkling of glass.

In the kitchen, my wife yelped and shouted, "What was that? Kafei?"

"Nothing," I replied immediately. After a moment, I added for the truth value, "Something broke."

Yes, it had. And the brat had broken it.


	9. Into the Pool

Title: Contemplations on Condescension  
Author: Kacfrog711  
Summary: Post-Majora's Mask. Everyone's favorite purple-haired snob gets married and lives happily every after. ...but that's just not good enough for him. (Link/Kafei)  
Rating: PG-13 (T)  
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the rights to anything Zelda, because this isn't even CLOSE to being canon.  
A/N: If you're reading this fic after May 15, 2005, there was a major edit to chapter 6 that explains why Anju's mother isn't around. The edit starts after "She's all I have left," and is one paragraph long.

Chapter 9: Into the Pool

Having heard the glass break, my wife arrived from the other room in a fuss. She was surprisingly indifferent to the ink stain by the door and the severely damaged guestbook. However, she was profoundly upset by the dusty pile of shattered glass that had once been a turtle. Upon discovering the broken-off head of the thing, she described to me in horror that it had been her father's, that her grandfather had bought it and given it to her father when he was just a child, and that he had then given it to Anju when she was similarly young. It happened to be shortly before her father had abandoned their family. At this point in the history, my wife began sobbing openly, collecting the sharp, shattered pieces with her bare hands.

Well, if the thing were so valuable, then what was it doing in the desk?

I walked over and knelt beside her, brushing off her sparkling hands and picking up the rest of it myself, and the inkpot. I threw the remains of the former in the trash and replaced the latter in the desk, along with the broken pen, which I'd slipped from the bulging pages of the book. When I glanced back at Anju, she was still crying discreetly away from me, looking at a small nub of glass in her cupped palm. I sighed. Now what was I supposed to do, honestly. If I were crying, I would hope my wife would be good enough to ignore it. If anyone else were crying in my presence, I'm sure they would excuse themselves and leave. But not Anju, no. Not my wife. She probably expected me to _do_ something about it. And what was I supposed to do? When we were children and I'd broken something of hers, or had hit her too hard and she'd started to cry, I'd told her to stop it, to be more like a boy, and not to cry (as I had been taught). Crying was stupid. And she, as a child, had cried all the harder for my yelling and had run off. It had consistently gotten her to leave, at least. It had also consistently gotten me yelled at by her mother, then by my own, then by my father at the direction of my mother. Despite the repetition of this lecture, they'd never taught me an alternative method of dealing with the situation, so what good had it done? I'd learned nothing because I'd been taught nothing; yet I was still - even now - being blamed for it.

My wife sat at the far end of the room from where I stood, and yelling was obviously not going to solve the problem now anymore than it had then. What other alternative was there? I could ask her to leave, but this also seemed out of the question. I had to do something, however, because it didn't sound like she was going to quit anytime soon. I looked at the desk for inspiration, then at one wall, then back to Anju. Nothing. Finally, I decided to take the direct approach and asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

She stopped sobbing, holding her breath as if this would hold back the tears as well. In response to my question, she leaned forward and shook her head but said nothing. I watched cautiously as she stood then, her back still to me. Anju turned fully and smiled despite the redness of her eyes and cheeks. "No, thank you," she said, then looked down once more and walked past me, still holding the little piece of glass in both her hands. The next moment she was out of my sight, and I wanted to throw myself in a river to wash off the guilt. It wasn't an altogether bad idea, really. Water. Drowning. I heard her climb the stairs, and as the door to our room was shutting, I shut the outside door and left the inn. It was cool out, and I reveled in the breeze, tossing back my hair as I walked the short distance through South Clock Town. I reached the laundry pool and immediately jumped in, fully clothed. The frigid water alerted me with a start, and I came up gasping for breath. Alright, so it _was_ a bad idea. Why had I done that? Idiot. And all I'd gained was the assurance that this ordeal wasn't some surreal, sadistic nightmare of mine. It was sickeningly real. And now I was wet, too. I swam the few strokes to the bridge and leaned my arms on it, then rested my cheek on one dripping, translucent sleeve. That hadn't gone very well at all, any of it. This whole day had been a horror, and of course the one to blame was obvious - but he wasn't here to accept my condemnation. No, he had run off with a rock to go help another civilization for a while until it suited him to return and play games with me again. Insolent, manipulative brat. And I would be here waiting, of course, and he knew that. He _knew _it! I slammed my fist on the bridge and it hit with a wet smack; the pain lanced up my arm and I clenched my jaw against it. Another thing that was his fault.

He knew it. He knew I'd be here waiting for him whenever he deigned to return. _"In under a year_," my mind supplied with the sarcastic bite of my own voice. Certainly, the boy in the green hat would return, and I would be waiting here for him. There was no doubt. And then I would kill him. ...It was, unfortunately, an idle threat. I couldn't kill a dog if I tried, and I certainly would never try, much less come close to killing a young boy, however irritating. But the thought of strangling that little neck was somewhat comforting, however hollow. I hated him. I hated him passionately and completely.

How could he leave? It was a stab at me, as much as his attempt to prance around in the field earlier. But then he had restrained himself, and now he was gone. Obviously the goron had been the deciding factor in his decision - or rather, a convenient excuse. Either way, it would be a long time before I saw the little terror again; that much was for certain. I had no doubt he would stretch that "year" term out for as long as he could, if he even chose to remember that aspect of our bet. "I'll return when I can" he had said to my wife. "I don't want to tell you when I'll return, but think well of me anyway" is what he had meant. No, it wouldn't be any time soon. I pulled myself out of the water and sat shivering on the wooden bridge, resigning myself for a long wait. I consoled myself with the knowledge that he was a lying, ruthless, vicious little creature, but he was also terribly stubborn: and if he said he would return, I didn't doubt his word. He wouldn't give me the satisfaction of never coming back and, thus, proving him false.

I sighed. He did have the right to forfeit. I could admit it now. ...But it was certainly a cheating way of losing, as a decision to lose on purpose can never technically be called a loss. Duplicitous... But if he wanted to lose, then I should let him. All the better for me. I wouldn't have to worry about his ridiculous "anything" term (What could he have possibly asked for, anyway?), and he would have to answer my questions, giving me exactly what I'd wanted from the start. It was a definite victory, however delayed. I won, and much quickler than expected. Why should I count it as a loss, just because he'd been the one to declare the game over?

...For exactly that reason. I'd be damned before I let the brat have his way, making a fool of me. And here he'd done it again, as predicted: said a quip and flitted off without any attempt at an explanation. Arrogant, infuriating child! He was invariably annoying, if reliable in no other aspect. Invariably frustrating.

It grew colder as the sun lowered, but my clothes were long-dry by true dusk. I needed to return to the inn for dinner, and the thought was enough to make me lose my appetite. But I couldn't allow my wife to eat alone, and there were still remnants of guilt in my gut to atone for that my dive into the pool hadn't cleansed. So, to dinner I went. Anju didn't seem surprised to see me at the table, but she didn't seem delighted by my presence either. She didn't smile, and the absence of it was strange and unsettling, like a still-smoking candle. We ate in silence (as I'm not prone to talking while I eat, and my wife made no effort at conversation), and the silence stretched even after the food was gone. I considered any topic I could possibly bring up, but nothing suitable came to mind. And I'd be damned before I deigned to discuss anything as asinine as general health or the weather. Instead, I complimented the meal, which was poor even for her standards, and Anju thanked me quietly. I offered to do the cleaning, and she thanked me again with her eyes downcast. The dwindling conversation died there. After a few more moments of absolute emptiness, and still without looking at me, my wife asked if I would close up the inn, because she wasn't feeling well and thought she would go to sleep early. I "of course"ed, and she retired to our room. I assume she stayed there for the rest of the night. I did not remain to verify it. Besides, I was relatively unconcerned by her odd behavior. Let her sleep it off; I was sure this mood of hers would pass.

I locked up with my own key and was once again back at the laundry pool: the inn - and particularly my room - being far too forbidding to sleep in. I lay on the bridge, watching the stars for the better part of the night. At some point, Ric left the shop and walked into the better part of Clock Town, stepping over me as if I were no more than a protruding nail in the wood. He returned some hours later with a long, cloth-wrapped package dangling over one shoulder. I looked inquisitively up at him as he stepped over me again, and he looked down at me in return, his shaded glasses falling forward onto his nose. "By the way," he said, "You owe me fifty rupees for the books."

I glared up as defiantly as one can in that position. "They were worthless," I lied, "And you should pay me for disposing of your trash."

"That bad, huh," he said, already walking back to the shop without even the decency to stay put for our conversation. "Make that fifty a piece, then."

"I'm not paying!" I shouted, still glaring up at the sky. I heard him laugh deeply, and the door to the shop was opened and shut behind him. I didn't hear the door lock, and I assumed this to be a gruff invitation (and an unnecessary one, since I'd had my own key for years) - but one I didn't care to accept. And I certainly would do nothing to atone for my destruction of the books. They weren't floating in the pool anymore. I wondered vaguely if he'd fished the bloated things out of the water or if they'd simply sunk to the bottom. It didn't matter, but it would have been amusing to watch him strain to reach one of the floating books without falling in. Maybe he had fallen in. I hoped he had. On my meditations of Ric, I was also curious as to what he'd bought of that size and shape that had required concealing. Weaponry, most likely, though the package looked a bit too thick and oddly-shaped to be a cluster of spears and too long to be swords or axes or anything likewise short. I was sure I'd find out eventually, anyway. Whatever they were, they'd no doubt be on display in a day or so.

The sun was rising beyond the walls by the time I was falling asleep. When I woke some hours later, it was to a blinding, bright white sun. I kept my eyes closed and remained still, wondering what I could possibly do now. No more Green-hat, for a year. I would have to return to that routine, again, I realized: the one where I spent the morning here, the afternoon working at the inn, and the night here once again. And the thought of doing this for another year was horrifying. Given, there was nothing truly terrible about the schedule. I had, after all, made it myself, based around my own desires. But the sheer _emptiness_ of it, on so long a scale as a year, terrified me. But what else could I do? As I lay there thinking like this, I felt no desire to move. I imagined that I would lay there forever in the sun, not eating, not sleeping, completely ignored. I imagined my body drying out and shrinking as it shriveled from the lack of food and abundance of heat, until I was no more than a pile of dust on the bridge, just waiting to be blown away completely by a strong summer wind. Somehow this fate was preferable to another year of my current life as it was.

I decided to start dying right that moment and see how long I could last. With one hand up for shade, I watched the sun as it moved slowly across the white-grey sky. And when my arm grew tired, I switched hands. And when that arm grew tired, the sun was low enough to watch directly, turning orange as it fell over my head and out of my sight. Then I watched the sky as its grey melted, revealing the radiant pinks beneath. Then the water, too, melted from blue to orange, to purple, to grey-black. Then it was night, and I watched the minuscule white moon and the flickering stars. By this point, I was sore, hungry, rather bored, and surprisingly thirsty. But I refused, still, to move. I would die here, I told myself. And what would Green-hat do then, when he condescended to return and found only dust?

I managed to fall asleep without trying sometime in the night. I hadn't realized it until I was abruptly woken by something sharp digging into my left shoulder. I started and swatted at it, only to discover the offensive thing was the toe of a hard grey boot. Ric set his foot down and squatted beside me, watching me as I struggled to sit up with his amused dark eyes. "You look like you haven't moved since yesterday," he said.

There was a bitter humor in that, and it shone in my retort, "I haven't."

"Well, that doesn't sound healthy." He replied immediately, readjusting his weight on raised toes. "Did you eat?"

"No," I spat, leaning my back, then my head against the solid stone wall. Why ask me that? Wasn't it obvious? Where would I have gotten food from; I wasn't a fish. Ric was an imbecile if he couldn't see that, and I just wanted him to go away. Dying had put me in a foul disposition, and I didn't want to deal with his uninspired opinions. However, I had no say in the matter as he sighed dramatically and grabbed my arm, pulling me up by force. "Hey!" I shouted at the affront, but it did nothing to stop his efforts.

"C'mon," he said, dragging me along the side of the pool; the grip on my arm was rough and secure. "You're such an idiot sometimes."

I snarled and fought against him, finally managing to get his hands off me before we could reach the door. I dusted my shirt and vest down ceremoniously, then glared at him. He merely looked at me with a long-suffering expression. After a moment of our staring, me growing more and more frustrated by his nonchalance, I lunged at him, struggling to get a good hold of his shirt. The move was unexpected, and Ric shouted. Before he could catch his balance again, I angled him ever closer to the pool, and finally shoved him back towards it. He, in turn, caught a hold of my shirt with one hand and pulled me down with him. It happened instantaneously, and there was nothing I could do to halt our momentum. The end result was a rather large splash, and the shocked floundering and gasping and shouting on both our parts. Wet again.

Once Ric had caught his breath again, he stared at me accusingly. I noted with some annoyance that, though his glasses were disarrayed, they hadn't fallen off. Damn, a minor loss.

"What was that for!" he shouted, pushing my head with the heel of his hand.

"It's your fault!" I sputtered, swatting at him and only managing to splash water in his general direction.

We continued struggling for a number of minutes before he pulled himself onto the side and sat there panting like a half-drowned dog. I remained treading water, feeling the blood warm my face in anger despite the freezing cold water I was submerged in up to my shoulders. Ric leaned forward towards me, resting his elbows on his knees, and he said with a caustic slur, "You awake now, precious?"

"Bastard," I spat, using both hands to splash him... which really did little good as he was already soaked through, and the motion caused me to stop treading and the water to rise up over my head. I came back up coughing.

"You're such an idiot," Ric said, and there wasn't much I could do about it this time. "What did you think you were doing?" he accused, wiping the water off his head and face. "You're not a damned cat."

"What is _that _supposed to mean?" I shouted back, trying to glare at him despite the wet hair falling into my eyes.

"It means," he said slowly, "Go home, Kafei." He stood up in a huff. "Go change your clothes. Go eat. Go to bed. And go stop being such an idiot." Thus pronounced, he strode back to the curiosity shop's door.

"I'll do what I want," I called back. He seemed to ignore me, pulling off his boots and over-turning them, spilling the swampish water out. "If I want to drown, I'll drown!"

"So drown already!" he said, and accentuated this statement with the slamming and locking of the door behind him.

I yelled inarticulately, but there was no further response. Bastard.

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. I hated him!

I swam to the opposite shore and pulled myself out, and when I turned back, everything was still unchanged and silent, save for the chirping of bugs. Go home, he had said. How dare he. What right did he have to tell me what to do? And after kicking me, and insulting me, and pulling me into the pool. And telling me to drown! I _should_ drown, and see how he liked it then! I stood there in the cold, contemplating the best way to get my revenge for these treacherous acts. My words obviously did nothing to him. My death would be similarly ignored. Living would be more of a nuisance to him. And I doubted vandalism of any kind would even affect him, the man was so insufferably tolerant. What else was there to do... After a number of complicated and unsatisfactory schemes, I decided the best plan of action was simply to ignore him for as long as possible. My existence would bother him far more than my death, and my indifference to him would grant him less than my anger. So, I would avoid him entirely. And, really, how hard could that be? It had worked in the past, after all - though this offence was considerably more jarring than anything he'd done before.

Refusing to stay in such close proximity to his shop, I returned to the inn and heated some soup. I did so because I was cold and hungry, mind you, and regardless of Ric's words. My will and his will for me just happened to coincide. I was not, by any means, taking his loathsome, offensive advice. As far as I was concerned, the man no longer existed. Good riddance.

I ate the bowlful quickly in an attempt to satiate my vicious hunger, then another. The clocks read was well-past midnight when I finally went to bed, and my wife was sound asleep on her side. She didn't stir from my weight, which I considered a small blessing. I realized then that I hadn't slept in my own bed - here - in quite a long while. It was unfamiliar, completely alien from the laundry pool's airy atmosphere which I so preferred. But the warmth of the blankets and the satisfaction of a full stomach after a day of fasting lulled me, and I fell asleep easily enough. As I did, the previous day's thoughts were completely gone from my mind; only my longing for the bridge beside the pool and my vehement detestation of Ric remained. Still, disturbingly enough, I dreamt not of Ric, nor water, nor Sakon. Instead, I dreamt of Green-hat, and our deal. I asked him what he wanted, what he would have asked for had he won. And he replied simply, "I got _exactly_ what I wanted." And then he laughed. I reached out to grab him, but he was gone, and I was alone. There was only darkness, and the mocking echo of his mirth.


End file.
